The Lost One- A Knight's Honor
by ZangetsuOldMan
Summary: The Administratum has the greatest source of knowledge in the Imperium. However, not even among their records can someone find shreds regarding the Lost Ones. The Second and Eleventh Primarchs, marked from history by order of the God-Emperor. What did they do? This is the tale of the Eleventh and how he came to rule the world of Avalon, his impact on the Imperium even to this day.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So, I have had this story hiding away in my PC forever and I thought 'why not?'. This story is based upon the Forgotten Primarchs, with an emphasis on the Eleventh because literally nothing is known about him. For the Second we have a few snippets about him, so going with the Eleventh gave me a lot more freedom.**

**Warning: There will be a few differences as opposed to canon, there are ways that the Eleventh will react to things so be prepared. Hope you guys enjoy and tell me what you think.**

Chapter 1: The Beginning of the End

The gene labs beneath the Himalayas were bolstering with the sounds of men at work, all striving towards the same goal that their project strived towards. The Primarch Project, the one which will guarantee the success of humanity as the dominant and rightful rules of the galaxy. Above all these men stood the great golden giant that led them all, the man known only as the Emperor or to those that truly knew him, Revelation. The old man that served as his eyes and ears stumbled as he barely made it out of the way of a bumbling tech priest, its robes breezing in the wind as it hurried to appease one of the many machines that were going haywire on the first pod station.

"Honestly, I do not understand how Revelation puts up with their kind." Malcador said, readjusting his robes back into their proper place.

He glared at the half machine abomination that had nearly run into him, the disgust that he felt at seeing it get down on its knees and chanting in binary to the machine made him agitated. Truly, these Mechanicum red robes did not get truly understand the meaning of their goals. They denied the Imperial Truth and saw the Emperor as their god made flesh, the only real reason that they tolerated them was because they understood technology better than anyone outside of himself and their 'Omnisiah'.

"Why we put up with their kind still astounds me, though I can understand their feelings towards the Emperor to a certain degree." Malcador said, straightened his robe.

Malcador sighed as he took one last look at the cyborg priest before moving on, having much more important duties than to reignite that old argument with his old friend. The Primarch Project was one where the utmost care had to take every step of the way lest the enemy catch on to what they were doing. Each Primarch was made with a separate goal in mind, filling an important role that they ever engineered to excel at past what any ordinary human could hope to accomplish. Thus, either Revelation or himself should be here to make sure that their attendants followed their instructions to the letter. Malcador followed the path from one end of the lab to the other, keeping tabs to see what developments the unborn children faced and thinking of ways to counter them before they became problems.

He stopped in front of the second pod, the air ominous almost immediately as he noticed that there was a pair of the Sisters of Silences, their trademark masks and bolt guns distinguishable from every other branch of their armed forces. '_What are they doing here?_' Malcador thought, the two women eying him as he went forward to try and get a better feel on what had drawn him here, a pit like feeling that sucked away all psychic powers in its vicinity. The masked warriors were known to be all psychic Blanks put this feeling was entirely too powerful to come from them alone. A Pariah, the term powerful Blanks were known as, would be the only thing that would be possible to have this much effect on a psyker of his level.

He looked through the data slate that one of the attendants handed to him, the sense of dread becoming foreboding as he continued reading the logs, glancing repeatedly at the unborn child.

**Subject: II**

**Designation: The Shield**

**Log 32: Recently we have introduced the Pariah gene to the Primarch in the hopes that he will develop the ability to cancel out psychic abilities on an unprecedented level. We hope that this will give him the edge that will help fulfill his duties as the head Psyker hunter that our Lord desires.**

Malcador glared at the attendant, one Caldillus Nuyus if he remembered correctly, for what little he was worth. "What have you done?" He asked, he rage dripping from every syllable for the offense that this lowly genealogist had done.

"M-Milord, I am sorry, but these were the Emperor's order." Caldillus said, stuttered out as he saw the rage that the Lord Regent was possessed by. "I-I was only following His orders."

"Truly?" Malcador asked, scanning the man's mind in order to tell if he was telling the truth.

To his surprise the man was which only made the Regent even madder. He looked to the child and could not help but feel disturbed by its very being. True the status as Pariah would serve him well but at what cost? These were meant to be mankind's saviors; they should be looked up to with hope. This child would be hated and feared for this condition till the rest of his days. The Lord Regent sighed, turning to look at the twin guards that hadn't taken their eyes off him since he arrived. "Watch over him, tell me of any further developments. Preferably before this one tries to experiment any further with one of the Primarchs."

The one to the left, possessing long brunette hair and the dark eyes that Blanks were known for, signed to him in their manner of speech. 'Of course, Lord Regent. I swear that no harm shall come to young Lord Azrobath under my watch.' She said, a feel of protectiveness emitting from her eyes that even a blind man could feel.

"Azrobath?" Malcador asked, intrigued by the Sister's response, "You named him?"

'Yes milord.' The Sister said, a proud look in her eyes as she looked at the fetus, her hands flashing through so many different symbols that it was hard enough for him to follow. 'He is destined to be our Lord, the one that will lead us into battle when the time is right and smite the foes of the Emperor. He should of course have a name for which we are to call him by.'

"Hmm, if you insist so much then I do not see a problem with it." Malcador said, not really caring too much about it.

'Maybe I can see if we can tie the Sisters of Silence with the Second Legion. They would be a good anti-psyker weapon against our foes.' He mused, walking away as the two Sisters went back to their stations at the sides of the Second's pod and the attendants back to work.

Malcador marched on, looking in on the other Primarchs and making sure that they were all making the necessary progress that was required of them. Besides recent developments with the Second Son, ("Azrobath" he muttered under his breath as he tasted the word) all seemed to be progressing as planned. The old man proceeded on his way, ducking and weaving in between the numerous attendants that the Primarch Project required. He felt more comfortable being indistinguishable from the crowd, when people knew that they were being watched they tended to act more honorable but when they didn't, they allowed their true selves to emerge. Malcador stopped when he heard the mental grumblings of a rather displeased research head, his feet already heading in that direction before he had a second to truly think about it as he headed off.

'Damn useless ingrates, couldn't be trusted with a wrench let alone running any of these machines.' Malcador heard from the mind of a nearby overseer, his eyes scanning over the stout and bald man that had one of the most unpleasant expressions stuck on his face as he chastised one of the red robed priests before dismissing him with a dismissive wave of the hand.

Octavious Pious, one of the few genealogists that survived the cleansing of the religious cults on Luna. They believed that the key to immortality was locked within the secrets of genetics and committed horrific experiments in order to try and unlock them, some of the worst horrors of the Old Night were performed by them in this mad quest of theirs. Thankfully when Revelation had learned of their crimes, he gave them an ultimatum: either swear to never perform such acts again and swear loyalty to him, or they could be exterminated. Most chose the latter. With that the Sixteenth Legion was used to decimate their forces, killing most of their ilk and using the rest in numerous projects that could use their expertise.

"What seems to be the problem Pious?" Malcador asked, his amusement at the scientist's outburst given away by the smirk that he wore on his face. "There are no problems I trust?"

"All is going according to plan Lord Regent," Pious said, snarling at the Tech Priest he was previously verbally abusing and smirking as the little attendant ran in fear. "If I could get some better help than these stupid cog heads then I would be much better off, though I assume you have more important things to take care of." He said, picking up a data slate from his worktable and flicking through it as he checked the dozen, or so machines being used to mold the future superhuman.

"I am afraid that you are going to have to make do with the Genetors Pious." Malcador said, looking over the cloistered mess which was Pious's workplace.

The man might be a genius at his work but a clean individual he was not, it did not help matters that he kept on scaring off whatever aides they assigned to help him. "I trust that the Tenth is coming along as scheduled? I wouldn't want to have to start doubting the skill that you have been going on and on about that you seemed to possess in your field."

"The Tenth will be one of the finest of the batch Lord Regent." Pious said, his pride and hubris showing through as he looked at the pod which housed the vessel of his hopes and dreams as a true genealogist. "Despite what setbacks I have experienced thanks to those useless cyborgs I should have no further issues."

"If you say so Pious, I am trusting that you can make good on your word." Malcador said, "I would hate to have to replace you after all of your hard work."

He would if need be, their work was too important that the pride of a fanatic, but his replacement would surely not be as skilled.

Malcador nodded to the man, making ready to leave before he thought back on what Pious had said and what it truly meant '"_ No further issues" he said, I didn't hear anything about that_.' "What did you mean by no further issues, have there been any new developments?" Malcador asked, he already had one surprise today with one of the Primarchs. He truly did no need another issue. He didn't doubt that Pious would fail to mention something, the man's pride was too strong at times that it would override what little sense was in the man's head.

"Well there was one problem but as far as I am aware it's been taken care of." Pious said, brushing off Malcador's concerns though he quickly cleaned up his attitude when he saw the Sigilette narrow his eyes at him, angering the old man was paramount to suicide, one he meant to correct immediately. "It was probably just a hiccup in the system, nothing more."  
"If it was just a technical error then you should have no problem showing me." Malcador said, narrowing his eyes at the man. He did not appreciate being blown off in such a manner, like some useless imbecile that did not know what he was doing like Pious thought of everyone around him. He was the voice of the Emperor and would not take such an insult lying down.

The man shrugged, picking up a separate data slate and pulling up numerous charts on it. "We had a few problems with the brain activity of the Tenth, as you can see that it was experiencing a lot of unusual activity around two weeks ago." Pious said, pointing to one of the graphs to make his point clear on the subject. The reading was off the charts at some points, the lines that represented their activity all over the place. This was not a good sign; this would normally mean that one of the Primarchs was being psychically manipulated which did not bode well for them, be it from one of the own or the Great Enemy themselves.

"Why did you not mention this sooner?" Malcador asked, glaring at the charts and then at the man himself who did a bit worried at his anger, as he should be. 'Of course, he doesn't understand. He couldn't possibly comprehend what this could mean for us.' Malcador thought, scoffing at the idea that this arrogant man had neglected to share information that could prove vital to the success or fail of one of their Primarchs, his pride in his work overriding what little sense the man had.

"If things had progressed this way, I would have been forced to Lord Regent." Pious said, admitted once he saw the ferocity in the older man's eyes. "But as they stood, the activity disappeared as soon as it arrived." He said, pulling up another chart for Malcador to look at. This chart was a little less hectic than the last, the activity being within more acceptable deviations than before. "This was one week ago, as you can see things have went back to normal and as far as we can tell it will not be a problem again."

"What makes you so certain of that?" Malcador asked, pleased that things were finally looking up. 'Perhaps it was nothing, just a common mechanical mistake.' He thought, though even with the incompetence of some of the Tech Priests even he found that to be unlikely.

"I did my own investigation into the problems, asking around the other project heads." Pious said, eager to please him to avoid a true confrontation. He wouldn't want to join his lost comrades after all. "The only other Primarch who seems to have had similar issues is the Twelfth, everyone else seemed to have no idea what I was talking about."  
"Hmm, and what of the Eleventh?" Malcador asked, trying to piece together what could have caused this conundrum to have occurred. 'It might be tied to this part of the labs, if so then figuring out exactly where it is located is key to rooting it out.'

"I tried asking Anatarius, but you know how he can be." Pious said, shrugging at the Sigilette's question. "He gave me some vague answer, claiming that he would take care of the problem before it got too out of hand. Based on the evidence I say that he made good on his promise."

"What can you tell me of this 'Anatarius'?" Malcador asked, his unfamiliarity with the man not too surprising when you consider that not all the heads were completely loyal to the Emperor. The last head of the Eleventh son was 'removed' because of personal complications, apparently, she didn't take too well to the fact that they had killed many of her former colleagues and were 'abusing' her knowledge for their own personal gain. 'Some people just cannot see the bigger picture, allowing their petty squabbles overtake their senses.'

"Not much to say about him," Pious said, the disdain clear to see as well as the contempt that he seemed to hold this Anatarius in. "He's a Genitor, one of the best that those cog heads in the Mechanicum have but I have heard some nasty rumors circulation around him. Apparently, he was exiled from the Bio-Genetic branch because he was delving too far into what they call 'techno-heresy', seemed to have a personal vendetta against psykers apparently."

"Psykers?" Malcador asked, not taking too well to what he was hearing. While the stigma against psykers was common enough that he wouldn't consider it a true problem, the man's history of skirting the line and questionable ethics were not the cornerstones that they were looking for regarding those they trusted with the Primarchs. 'I'll have to look into this priest, I doubt that I will like what I find out either.' He thought, thanking Pious for his help before bidding the man good day and setting off to investigate their recent problems.

Malcador did not know when he first heard it, a meek and frankly weak whimper that called out to him in the direction of the Eleventh pod. He was on his way to check further into this Anatarius character, from what he had been able to gather the Tech Priest was excommunicated completely from his former colleagues in the Bio-Genetics department and for good reason. Anatarius was trying to figure out the secret to perfecting psychic potential into an individual's genetic structure, while this may not seem to be particularly bad, he didn't just stop there.

The long list of experiments and research that the mad priest had conducted on his subjects were horrific in the eyes of the Sigilette. 'No wonder the Mechanicum were willing to turn him over to us, while his knowledge might be of use to us the risks that he might try something is too great to simply be left alone.' He thought, strutting down the halls, still hearing the quiet whimpers that resonated within his head. A pair of Custodian guards were flanking him, there in case his worst fears were confirmed, and they had to remove the man before he could do any harm.

Malcador thundered down the hallway, the sound of his staff hitting the cold hard floor the only sound that the attendants could listen to as they fearfully went about their work. They had seen the look on the Regent's face and the pair of gold armored guards at his side. This made the normally stoic old man even more intimidating as he forced his way into the section of the lab dedicated to the Eleventh Son. None dared stand in their way, the poor mortals jumping and scurrying to get out of the man's way, they did not wish for the man to turn his rage unto them and they had to live with the aftermath of what was to come.

The old man approached the sealed off area which contained the laboratory of the Eleventh, storming past the gates with all due haste. The pounding sound of the whimpers all too powerful for even the second most powerful human psyker. 'I do not know what this mad man might have done but if he has jeopardized us then I will unmake him.' Malcador thought, scanning for the filthy traitor with all due haste. The lab seemed relatively normal at first glance, attendants running about doing their menial work while their overseer was scrunched over his table as he was writing one report or another. Once Anatarius saw them he had a look of surprise on his mechanical face, dropping his quill and walking over to them, the heavy sounds of his metal footsteps shaking the ground. Malcador tapped into the man's mind, searching through it for any relevant data as they began their conversation.

"Lord Regent, what a surprise." Anatarius said, bowing deeply to the significantly smaller man, his cheerful expression not leaving his face for a moment. "If I had known that you were coming then I would have cleaned up a bit more for your inspections." 'What is he doing here? I did not expect that the Regent himself would make an appearance, hopefully he doesn't catch on.'  
"No, that is quite alright." Malcador said, smiling back at the man though there was no cheer to be found in it. This was the expression of a man that was doing his best to restraint himself to the best of his ability. "I find that people are shown to be much more honest in regards in their work when they are not aware that they are being observed. I am sure that you can state the same when it comes to your workers."

"I suppose that that is true to a certain extent, though I feel that I would have been able to show you more relevant data if you had given me time to write up a formal report." 'Oh if only this fool would just shut up and leave me to my work, we are in a very delicate state right now and I cannot afford to humor this old flesh bag.' Anatarius said, humming regarding what his counterpart said and crossing his shoulders. "I am afraid that my personal notes are not too well written, lest of all for someone of your position to be forced to go through them. I am not the greatest at writing them when I get all caught up in my excitement."  
"No, I assume that you wouldn't. I heard as much from some of our Genitor friends in the Bio-Genetic branches, they had a lot of interesting things to say about you." Malcador said. The tech priest instantly froze up at his comment, letting a little of the unease that Malcador wanted to see in the man's face lit up as he saw where this conversation was going.

"W-What are you talking about Lord Regent?" 'How does he know about that? Why? I didn't do anything too obvious; does he know what we have been trying to do?' Anatarius asked, finally taking true notice of the golden Custodes that were flanking his superior's sides. They had their hands firmly gripping their power glaives, if their faces could be seen then he was sure that the both would be glaring at the tech priest for what little he was worth. "I surely do not know what you mean, you must be mistaking me for someone else."

"No, I am quite sure Anatarius." Malcador said, walking forward into the tech priest's space as he back tracked with the gracefulness of a coward. "I heard that you were excommunicated for experimenting with psykers, ripping what little Navigators and Telepaths that were given to you into little bits. I even heard this nasty little rumor that you were trying to clone some psykers of your own, that was what finally got you caught." He pressed on, the man sprinting away with all haste until he had no more room, his back to the wall next to the pod. "I didn't want to believe this of course, you seemed like had upstanding individual and your knowledge would prove useful to us, but I can't risk you butchering all of our hard work by dissecting one of our Primarchs now can I?"  
"Please milord, I was just trying to make a few improvements." 'How dare this old coot get in the way of my progress, there had to be sacrifices in order to progress the field, but they were acceptable.' Anatarius pleaded, knowing what fate that would be awaiting him if the Sigilette found judged and found him wanting. "My knowledge in regard to how psychic powers manifest has proven invaluable to the project, I have done no wrong truly."

"I will be the judge of that Anatarius," Malcador stated, pointing to the lab deck which was clustered with papers. "Go fetch me your notes, they will hold the truth of what you have done here. If what you say is true then this should be no problem and we can just forget all about this, if not…well I think that I'll let you think quite hard on that." He said, pushing the priest into the table's direction.

The tech priest scrambled to get what he needed; paranoia so clear to all around them. The attendants stopped what they were doing and looked in the direction of the exit, the two gold guards guarding it made the option not advisable as they turned to the menials and one of them slowly shook his head, none daring to push the guards.

"H-Here you are milord, my personal notes in regard to the project." 'Thank the Machine God this is just my backup data slate, nothing incriminating there so all should be fine.' Anatarius said, thrusting the data slate into the man's hands before bowing deeply. "I think that you will find that everything is in order."  
Malcador scanned the slate, looking it over for any faults before handing it back to the tech priest and smiling to him. "Everything seems to be in order, except that there is just one problem."  
"W-What would that be Lord Malcador?" Anatarius asked, relieved that he was in the clear now. The relaxed look on his face lasting for but a movement before the Sigilette knocked him over the head with his staff, the psychic power radiating from it made it clear that the man was not pleased.

"Do you think that I am an idiot you fool?" Malcador sneered, grabbing the man by his robes and pulling out another data slate from within, the tech priest shocked that he was able to check on to his treachery so easily.

"H-How did you-?" Anatarius asked, shocked that the man was able to know that the data slate that was given did not hold the true research notes that he had taken.

"You are talking to one of the greatest telepaths in existence you imbecile." Malcador said, glaring at the researcher for what he was worth. "I simply have been reading your mind from the moment that I first started speaking to you; you shouldn't be so surprised. You should be aware of what a psyker can be capable of, we re your expertise apparently."

Malcador ignored the shocked and enraged look upon the man's face as he scanned the correct data slate, it was no fault of his that his mind was not the perfect sanctuary that he believed it to be. He was simply paying the price for toying with powers that were beyond his control, this was the first step in many and the rest would be even more painful before this was all through.

**Subject: XI**

**Designation: The Watchman**

**Log 33: Once we had inserted Xenos DNA (designation Aeldari) the subject started to show signs of irritation and started to lash out with his mind. We have been forced to set up more seals on the pod, using what knowledge I have come to understand of the psychic arts they should hold. The child has taken to screeching at the workers so this was proven to be the correct choice, while any psykers looking in on him will not be hindered he will not be able to communicate at all outside of his pod. More tests will have to be done in order to maximize the psychic potential of the subject, while humanity is lacking in this department, I feel that by introducing additional Xenos races into the mix that the subject will be the better for it.**

Malcador had to hold himself back as he continued to read the log, the rage at this man's irresponsibility was enough to make him want to mind strip him. 'We were lucky to get here when we did, if I had waited then the situation would most likely be unsalvageable.' Malcador thought, going through several scenario so that he could try and make the best of this horrible situation.

"So, I guess we know what happened to those Eldar corpses that were lost." Malcador said, glaring down at the kneeling tech priest. There was a recent discovery of some Eldar scouts on Mars, most likely they were looking for any new data on what the 'mon'kiegh' were doing here and were promptly killed for their efforts. Their bodies were secured by the Mechanicus but soon went missing. 'It appears that they have shown up in Anatarius's hands, not surprising given his scientific interests.' Malcador thought, going on to verbally abuse the man a bit more. "While I can condone the research of both the xenos and psykers in general. I can not allow you combining the two, the risk of you making some abomination of man and Eldar is too high." He grasped the man's head, forcing him to make eye contact, showing the pure unbridled rage that he was to unleash upon this fool. "Do you have any last words before I strip you of the mind that you seem to cherish so much?"  
"I have committed no wrong." Anatarius said, glaring at Malcador, not a shred of remorse to be found in his eyes. "Everything I have done; I did for the betterment of our race. We need to have the knowledge of how psykers manipulate and control the Warp and the only way to do that is to conduct experiments. Any scientist will say that the way to new knowledge is through experimentation, I have only bettered the Eleventh with the gifts that I have given him!" Anatarius yelled, hysterically screeching before one of the Custodes drew forward and blew what functioned as brains from the cyborg's head, hearing enough of what the mad man had to say.

"Why did you shoot him?" Malcador asked, rounding on the Custodes who did not flinch when he saw the anger that was emitting from the Sigilette's form. He of course already knew what the Custodes thought of his course of action and allowed him to act, sometimes he allowed his rage to overtake him and that has led to some unfortunate choices. 'Still, say what you will but that man has guts to defy me in any manner.'

"There was no reason to let him live and torturing him for the sheer sake of it would do us no good." The Custodes said, bowing to Malcador. "Besides, I think that we have quite enough on our plate before we go any further."  
"You are quite right." Malcador said, sighing as he looked at the corpse of the overseer before turning and regarding the attendants, shocked at seeing their commander dead. He could feel the shock and alarm radiation off of all of them so he felt it best that they occupy themselves with something. "I want you all to clear out so that we can clean this up, come back in but an hour to await further orders."

The workers ran out the room in an orderly fashion, not willing to risk the Regent's wrath and seeing no reason to fight for a dead man's case. He didn't go out of his way to try and know any of them, so they saw no reason to put their necks out for him. Good riddance as far as they were concerned.

"First things are first," Malcador said, inspecting the pod as well as the new seals that were on it. They were rudimentary and lacked most of the components of a proper abjuration seal, the fact that they worked at all spoke levels of the tech priest's skill. Though it might have more to do with how many there were as opposed to any true skill on his part. "I have to say that he did have a basic idea of what he was doing, if nothing else."

Malcador tapped his staff against the pod, the weak and inferior seals that were keeping the young Primarch confined were released, ripped into a thousand pieces while keeping the original ones designed for his protection in place. This would be extremely difficult for most psykers, the minute level of control needed was one in which most did not focus on, but he was the second most skilled psyker for a reason. "Now, how does that feel little one?" Malcador asked, putting his hand on the glass and reaching out with his mind towards the child. He was instantly meet with a sharp wail that rung throughout his head, the sound was so powerful that he almost lost contact almost instantly but was able to hold on. 'Now I am seeing why Anatarius put those on there.' Malcador thought, rubbing his temple in order to help get rid of the pain.

Malcador send some calming thoughts through his bond, hoping to get the child to stop before he had to take more drastic measures he would rather avoid. 'It is alright, the bad man is gone now. You are safe young one so please be quiet.' He said, hoping that his psychic charged thoughts would be basic enough that the child would be able to easily understand him.

Malcador could feel the pain and anguish that the child was going through, the only recourse that he had was to simply wail, Primarch or no he was still but an infant. He tried to calm the child down, sending calming thoughts to him so that he could try and placate the boy to some avail.

'Tell me what hurts, what did he do to you?' Malcador asked, hoping to gain a bit of insight into the problem to resolve it. 'I cannot do anything to stop the pain if I do not know what the problem is.'

The child stopped wailing if for but a moment, sending a series of images into the Sigilette's head. There were several of them involving Anatarius, injecting the pod with a series of substances and probing the child with needles repeatedly. Attached to these images were the emotional connections that he had to them, most prominently pain and a sense of unease and terror at what the tech priest had done.

'Hm, we'll have to make sure that the Eldar DNA was able to properly connect with the child's structure to avoid any complications.' Malcador thought, pondering the situation for a bit while keeping the child calm.

Though the Eldar DNA no doubt was the main reason was as developed, both psychically and emotionally, there was the risks that Anatarius had failed to consider in administering it so late. The problem with this scenario was that while what Anatarius had done would normally not be too big of a problem, if it was done in the earlier stages of the project. In the latter stages any change, no matter how big or small, could have disastrous consequences. The only way to salvage this was to have a powerful biomancer, which Malcador was not, to into the child's structural makeup and either remove it entirely or make it fit perfectly in the child's DNA makeup.

"Alright, I think that I know what I need to do." Malcador said, nodding to himself before diving back into the 'conversation' ('could one truly have a conversation with an unborn child?').

'I fear that what the bad man has done is outside of my ability to fix child.' Malcador thought, noticing the sense of unhappiness surfacing in the child's thoughts and moving to ease that lest there be another wailing fit.

'Do not fret, I will go and fetch your Father child. He will know what to do in this situation, do not fear.' He was about to take his hand off the glass before he felt the child's presence tense up and scream out at him, the panic clear to see.

The child whimpered in his mind, the sound was weak and showed the amount of agony that the child was in along with the need to not be alone. It was a pitiful sound which made even Malcador feel sorry for the creature for but a moment, steeling his resolve and ready to break off from the connection. This did not go over so well as the child latched on even further, he was powerful to be sure in the ways of telepathy even at that age, but it was nothing compared to the strength of the Sigilette.

'If I break off from him forcibly then that could bode ill for the child.' Malcador thought, sighing at the childish nature of the young Primarch. It could very well cause irreversible damage if he were to do so, someone at that age was still developing their powers and he could very well damage that. He returned to looking at the unborn Primarch, chuckling to himself at his stubbornness before relenting to his demands. 'If that is your wish then I will stay here until your Father arrives, you are quite the stubborn one it seems.'

The child beamed at this, taking his mild scolding as praise. Malcador smiled at this, nodding in response before turning to look at the Custodes, looking at the ready to spring into action if the need arised.

"Is something the matter Lord Malcador?" The one on the left said, looking at the sight with a bit of unease. Though it was common for them to see either their Lord or the Regent display their psychic prowess the fact that one of them could be stopped in their tracks if for, but a moment was a cause of concern. Though the fact that the Sigilette was truly smiling was a good sign that things were under control.

"Yes Custodes, I want you to go and fetch the Emperor with all due haste." Malcador said, not taking his eyes from the pod as he issued his orders. "Tell him that there has been a recent development with the Eleventh that requires his attention, mentioned that this is a problem that I do not feel completely confident in doing myself."  
"Yes milord, it will be done." The Custodes said, bowing before the Regent and making all due haste in fulfilling his orders.

Malcador pulled up a seat next to the pod, "Well it seems like that I will be here for a while." Malcador said, pondering his situation. 'Do you have anything else that you would like to show me young one?'

This seemed to be the correct thing to ask as the child beamed at him through their connection and then proceeded to bombard the old man with image after image, asking questions all the way.

"This is quite the perplexing situation Malcador." Revelation stated, looking at his sleeping son. The child had long since run out of energy from the experience, sharing all that he had observed during the small span that he had been conscious. The powers of a telepath were ones that were both simple and yet some of the most dangerous. A telepath can make a playground of someone's mind, they can root throughout all their thoughts and feelings, messing with their perception of the world and everything that they to be true. Therefore, telepaths were scorned by the populace at large, while their strength does not show itself as directly as say a pyromancer, they are perhaps more deadly thanks to their subtlety. "I see why you called for me, this procedure escapes your set of skills old friend."

"Unfortunately, you are correct." Malcador said, looking at the man that the world (and soon the galaxy) knew as the Emperor of Mankind. He had chosen to forgo his regular gold-plated armor in lieu of a simple tunic, his attire not taking away from his impressive from. "Though I feel that this situation could have been resolved if you had not seen fit to grant them such dangerous powers Revelation."  
"How so?" Revelation asked, gesturing with his hand towards the sleeping child, "While it is true that the Eleventh has great telepathic powers, I do not see how the situation would have been different if he did not have them. The tech priest would still have tried to experiment on him and we would still be in this scenario, the Primarchs are psychic beings by nature and they all display this in numerous ways."  
"True, but I still believe that you are putting too much stock in your psychically gifted sons." Malcador said, the distrust he had towards them clear to see. "You of all people know what the Enemy can do to them, what they have the potential to do if they got out of hand."  
"And for that very reason I chose to give the Eleventh his powers." Revelation stated, that all knowing looking in his eyes one that the Sigilette had come to loathe at times. It was a look that meant he could not be persuaded to change his mind on the subject, even Malcador could not hope to do so.

"What is the difference between us, Malcador, and the Primarchs?"  
"None truly, except that we are the ones that hold their reins." Malcador said, his belief in his statement paramount. They were all weapons of mankind to use against their enemies, be they the foul xenos races or the forces of Chaos that threatened the universe at large.

"The key point old friend, is that the difference in power between us and them is the bridge that separates us." Revelation said, nodding at is companion's thoughts on the matter. "While we may act as guides and mentors to them, there will always be a difference of trust between us and them. They will be willing to tell their brothers thoughts that may seem traitorous to our cause and that bond of brotherhood is what keeps them on the same level with one another."

"Are you saying that the reason you gave him such dangerous power is your fear that one of them will turn on you?" Malcador asked, hating the thought of such an act.

The forces of Chaos were terrifying in the way that they turned the most loyal among your ranks to their cause. The taint of Chaos is such that few things in this universe could hope to remove it, Revelation's touch being the only true way that he knew of.

"I dislike the thought as well but we much admit that it is a possibility." Revelation said, shaking his head and then pointing at the pod. "That is why the Eleventh is skilled in the ways of telepathy as well as in the ways of empathy. His eyes shall be the ones that shall uproot all those within the ranks of our Astartes who would fall to their hands, he is the watchman that will be on the lookout for the great Enemy."  
"I hate to admit it Revelation but you are correct, as always." Malcador said, looking at the child with untrusting eyes.

The thought of psykers beyond the two of them was not a pleasant thought though they could be trained to be loyal and not abuse their powers. "What of the Eldar DNA inside of him? What should we do about that?"

"That is a small matter, as far as I am concerned this might have been a blessing in disguise as they say." Revelation said, holding out his hand and allowing the power of the Warp to channel through him. As soon as he touched the pod there was a flash of light and the pain that the child was in was gone, replaced with tranquility and peace as Revelation fixed the failed merging and allowed the two to become one as was the intention. "The Eldar are known for their skills in the mystic arts. This can only be a boon."

"I think that you are showing a little favoritism to those among your children who happen to be psykers rather than treating them with the suspension that is due to them." Malcador said, shaking his head at the Emperor's words.

"If you are so afraid that they are going to turn on us old friend, then I trust that you will make the precautions to make sure that such a thing does not happen." Revelation stated, showing the little bit of trust he had in the Primarchs. If they were trained and conditioned correctly, they should be fine, but they could never be too careful.

"Gladly old friend, I will make sure that nothing will threaten the future of mankind." Malcador said, looking at the pods that lined the halls of the lab. His eyes glazing over them as if scrutinizing them for some crime that they have yet to commit, stopping once at the Eleventh before turning his back and leaving. The sound of his staff echoing throughout the halls. "No matter the cost."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: DID YA MISS ME?! BOYZ, WE'ZE GONNA JUMP RIGHT ON IN AND RELASE SOME DAKKA UP ON THESE BOYZ! CAN I GET A GOT WAAAARGH!**

**In all honesty, it's good to be back with a new chapter for you guys. I would like to thank all of you who have followed, favorited and commented. It's great to see that you guys are enjoying my writing and I hope that you guys enjoy this chapter.**

**Chapter 2, onward!**

Chapter 2: The Abduction

The day had started out like any other, the menials and attendants going throughout their days as they listened to their overseers. They made sure that everything was up to standards and exactly as the Emperor intended, after the purging of Anatarius and the aftermath of that left the overseers a little less willing to test the Sigilette's patience. It was quite dull to Malcador if he was being honest, the way that the serfs had run whenever they saw him approach. As long as they did their jobs then they had no need to worry, if not then they were as arrogant or stupid as Anatarius was (or perhaps a combination of both).

Finding a new head for the Eleventh project was quite simple. The Mechnaicum were dropping to their knees (or what they had that passed as knees) once word of one of their 'techno-heretics' was brought to their attention. They scurried to give them one of their best genealogists, the name of which escaped the Sigilette at the moment, but all in all nothing truly exciting happened.

Malcador was making his way around, everything was progressing as it should and none of the staff tried to tamper with anything that they shouldn't. 'If only they could have done that without me having to kill someone that would have been preferable, but it is what it is.' Malcador thought, shrugging as he walked back to the second floor of the labs. The second floor being home to the Emperor's personal office in the labs, a bay window allowed them to see all that was happening on the ground floor.

"How does it, Revelation?" Malcador asked, meeting with the Emperor's usual stoic figure. The man was hunched over his desk, his eyes cloudy with worry as they looked up at him but went back to their usual cold blue.  
The Emperor did not respond for a bit, looking over his notes and double checking all of the logs. After the Anatarius incident his paranoia seemed to spike to an all-time high, not allowing even the most minute of problems to go without through investigation.

Malcador felt a similar touch enter his mind, the radiance of the Emperor's presence one that he was all too familiar with.

'I do not like this Malcador, I feel that things are much too quiet.' Revelation said, his worry clear to Malcador. As the Emperor's closest confidant, he was used to seeing the more human side to the Emperor of Mankind, hearing his personal thoughts that no one else would be privy to. But to hear the man express such doubt considered the Sigilette all the more.

'It means that we are doing our job correctly then.' Malcador said, his tone confident and sure of the path that they were on. 'It means that all of our precautions and failsafe have come through.'

'Do you truly believe that we escaped without any notice old friend?' The Emperor asked, shaking his head at the old man's reply. 'No, no even the best of wards or the greatest of minds can truly escape the eyes of the Enemy. To think so would be the height of arrogance.'

Malcador rubbed his chin, looking down at the Emperor's clustered desk. Reports and daily journal entries from the twenty project heads were arranged in a way that not even Malcador could fully comprehend.

'True, I cannot claim to understand the Enemy's mind, nor can I say with absolute certainty that all whispers of what we are doing has gone without notice.' Malcador stated, 'But what I can say is that if they have not struck yet then I doubt that they will. I think that they simply fear the frightful 'Anathema' so they will bd their time.'

The Emperor looked up, a hint of uncertainty still in him but any sight of it was gone in a flash. 'I believe that you are right, we just afford any risks when it comes to the Primarchs. They are the last hope that we have old friend.'

'I know old friend; believe me I know.' Malcador said, patting the large man on the shoulder, understanding clear in his gesture.

At that moment Malcador felt a prick of psychic energy manifest, just as he reached his mind out to investigate it there was a bright light. It enveloped the entire lab, building up momentum as it seeped into their reality. It took Malcador only a moment to realize what this was, horror shown in his eyes as he thought back to an age old Terran saying: 'Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.'.

The Emperor pulled the aged old man into an embrace, using his body as a shield. A golden aura appeared around him and was just barely able to bring it to sufficient strength before the whole lab was engulfed in a psychic explosion.

One second there the labs were at peak performance, the greatest technological marvels that mankind had ever developed laid within. In the next, they were all but smoldering ruins, all those that were outside of the psychic shield were simply evaporated out of existence. The amount of damage done to the labs would make it seem as if it would be fair simpler to build a new one than to deal with the ruins of the last, but amongst the pile of rubble and death **they **appeared.

The first being had an avian appearance, though to call him just a blue bird would be an injustice. It would be in the same manner that calling a Titan just a machine or the Emperor just a man. What you are saying is true, but it does not captivate the true essence of its being.

The being was covered in a variety of blue feathers, all beautiful and dark in their manner. Its clothing was attire that you would think belonged on the nobles of old, drawing attention to the noble station that such a creature must possess. But it was the eyes that truly drew one's attention. They seemed to be examining everything in the room, taking it all in and scheming all the while, twirling its talons as it locked eyes on one of the pods, a cruel sneer on its beak as its eyes glowed in dark delight. Truly, the Lords of Change were creatures of mystery and the keepers of ancient knowledge, no doubt it was thanks to its kind that their plot was found out. The servants of Tzeentch were gifted with foresight, able to follow the Fate Spinner's thread while others were left to the blind hand of fate.

The second being was one that seemed to come straight from the pages of the ancient religions of Terra. Its large bat like wings, the curved horns, the red skin, all seemed to fit the description of those old tomes. Perhaps these were the first beings that were sparked by Chaos, who could say? It looked intimidating in its brass armor, looking ready to spring into action at the beck and call of its lord.

The monster looked around the room, its eyes hungry as it looked at all the death and carnage that surrounded it. It smiled. The beast licked its lips as it grasped its brass axe, looking over at the Emperor and it _smiled_. Normally when such creatures encounter their feared Anathema they cowered and threw curses as he smited them. Not this one, he looked ready to do battle with them and would be happy to die as he would kill in the name of the Blood God. Truly, Bloodthirsters were made of sterner stuff than most daemons.

The third was a lumbering green beast. Its figure was larger than the rest of its brethren, the rusted blade in its hand oozed a pus of a dozen different colors. All over its blood were a thousand tiny cuts, all oozing a different disease, the air around it so foul that if any mortal tried to approach it, they would contract a hundred diseases and be thankful that it was only that. Flies and other venomous pests laid buried in its body, its guts hanging out of its ribcage and covered its stomach in a makeshift apron. However, it did not seem to be disturbed by this, in fact it looked quite delightful in its wretched state.

It looked across the room, the metal floor under it turning to rust as it continued its survey. It smiled all the while, a golly fellow who seemed to all the world a good beast if not for its figure. It seemed to settle its gaze on one of the pods, its smile turning all the gentler and paternal, before settling on the mortals in the room. Its stance lacks but all in the room knew that it could and would kill all of them with its aura of death alone if not for the Emperor's protection. The Great Unclean Ones were beings of true revulsion, their cheerful demeanor making them all the more terrifying to their foes.

And lastly, the fourth was a being that was simply the pinnacle of extreme emotional pleasure, be it endless joy and soul crushing agony. It looked upon the room with hungry eyes, the mortal in the room could feel a probe touch their minds, the touch foul and disgusting. It was quickly rebutted as the Emperor shone his light even further, a snarl on its face as its fun was interrupted. It looked to the Emperor, a sly smirk on its face as it strutted forward, hubris and arrogance came across it in waves, acting as if all the world was its possession and they should be honored to see it.

The being had four arms, one grasping its bastard sword and in the rest were various balls of light, its ruby like eyes were looking across the pods and seemed to focus in on one in particular. It smiled gleefully, its crown of horns rising up in pleasure as the beast gave a good hearty chuckle that sent a shiver down the spines of everyone in the room. Its breasts shook with the laughter, its tunic the only thing that made one question what it truly was. The Keepers of Secrets were as malicious as they were mysterious, the servants of Slaneesh and they reflected their Dark Prince's true nature back to him.

As a group they called to their hated enemy, their rage and contempt at this being that thought that it could ever hope to overcome their masters shone through every syllable that left their collective mouths. They circled the golden being, coming out him at all sides so that he could not escape.

"**Anathema, you thought yourself so clever, so wise that you could ever hope to match us." **The Lord of Change said, cackling in its avian tongue. A spell on its lips and its glowing eyes would be enough to intimidate most mortal men, but the Emperor looked at it in stoic silence.

The four beings weaved around the room, surrounding the Emperor and his companions though they were kept at bay thanks to the Emperor's force of will.

"**We have existed for eternality; we are all that you are and all that you can ever hope to be."** The Unclean One said, each of the Greater Daemons lashing out at the Emperor only to be repelled time and time again.

"**Did you think that these creatures, your 'sons', would be that which would be our downfall? As if we would ever allow that." **The Keeper of Secrets hissed, a cruel laugh as it lashed out with its blade. The Emperor was quick to riposte the strike, not phased at all by the abomination before him.

"Cease your insults your vile daemons of the Warp." The Emperor said, his form not showing the least bit fear or concern for their presence.

As they advanced on his position they were repelled, forced back by the great force which comprised the Emperor's being. The great golden light that surrounded him as well as the darkness ominous feeling that the Greater Daemons gave off made it seem as if it were a battle between one of the ancient gods of mankind against whatever devil their religion chose to fear. Those that were shielded by the Emperor's form could not argue against such a thought as they stared into the dark abyss that surrounded them. But the abyss stared back into them all the same, their nefarious chuckles never ceasing.

"**Oh, we shall do as we wish oh mighty 'Emperor', but first we shall be taking what is owed to our Lords." **The Bloodthirster hissed, his eyes filled with bloodlust and glee. His fellows sprang into action, grasping five of the pods each before whisking them away.

The Emperor felt them grasp hold of the twenty pods which housed the last hope for mankind's future, his eye widening as he finally grasped their intentions. That which was mankind's future might very well be its undoing; he could not allow such an act to run its course. He tried to lash out with his mighty strength, golden light shining from his beloved great sword, the flames bled a golden shine from his great might, but it was for naught. The Daemons disappeared as soon as they arrived, cackling at his plight as they spirited away his sons to only, they knew where.

The Emperor shattered the ground below him as he struck it, his face filled his rage as he could do nothing in the face of those devils. He allowed his grief to show for but a moment before regaining it, centuries of being thwarted by them time and time again having built up a resistance to such acts, but his closest companions could see that he was hurting on the inside.

The Emperor waved off their concern, they had more important things to do. They might have been setback but hopefully they could salvage something of this wreck so that some good might come out of this.

"They are gone." The Emperor said, his eyes looking over the empty labs, eyes searching as if his sons would be coming back any second. His stoic look made one believe that he was not at all phased by what had happened, though Malcador could see the anguish that was alight in him before it was snuffed out.

The Sigilette looked over the mess that they were left with, sighing at the destruction that the great Enemy had caused. This was mostly likely the worst-case scenario that could have occurred, without the Primarchs it would be a lot harder to progress the Great Crusade but not all was lost to them. They would find a way as they always had.

"We will endure my friend, we have no choice but to succeed." Malcador said, his eyes narrowed in determination as he thought on what needed to be done.

The Regent began directing the Custodes that were fortunate enough to have survived the carnage, ordering them to have some personnel clean up this mess and then continuing his way to his chambers. This predicament would best be mused over in silence and solitude, there must be a way to fix this and they will fix it, there was no doubt about that.

"That we must my friend, that we must." The Emperor said, his eyes lingering on the labs which held his, no humanity's, greatest chance at survival before turning and walking away. There was no need to lingering on what might have been, they had a species to save after all.

* * *

Kuzhruc could not hold back the sheer joy that that spectacle had brought him. The look on the Anathema's face as they rip the only thing that could have had a chance in saving his pathetic race was just too priceless. He would enjoy twisting the 'pure' children of the Anathema into something so utterly disgusting and vile, taking away all their virtue and filling it with every vice his twisted mind could think of, oh this would be so very enjoyable.

'_Oh, I so do look forward to it._' Kuzhruc thought, arriving at his first drop point as he observed the wonderfully purple planet that he was hovering over. It's surface, covered in dense violet smog reminded it of his beloved Lord. '_Surely he will welcome me back with open arms, oh I have longed to please my Prince once more.'_

The planet, Agnonus, was one in which the rich and powerful merchant houses stomped and crushed those in the weaker classes of their society, treating them as dirt and the maggots that they were. They controlled everything and their every whim was the command of a thousand servants, this allowed them to gorge on their excessive pleasures without a single care in the world for what pain and suffering there were inflicting it on others. Yes, this world would do well as one of the homes of one of Slaaneesh's new children, he would learn that it was just and right to take what you wanted and to destroy those that stood in your way. He would joy in their anguish as everything was taken from them. Kuzhruc looked down at the five pods that he held grasped to his chest, nested up against his breasts as he took but a moment to pick the one marked XI and released his hold on him, watching him plummet to his new home. It was not to be.

In all fairness Kuzhruc was not to blame, how could he be? This scenario was one in which even the Chaos Gods had written off as an impossibility, the thoughts that this creature could ever truly be a threat to them was laughable even before he had destroyed its family. Being left with those self-righteous creatures that were humble just enough to admit that their creators deserved their devotion.

The being glared at him, the fires within those emeralds held defiance that should have died out eons ago but still clung onto somehow as she held the pod that he had just released firmly to her chest, angling her body so as to offer the sleeping child the best protection that she could.

"**What are you doing here wretch?**" Kuzhruc hissed, glaring at the pitiful fallen god of the Aeldari before him. "**Shouldn't you be back in your precious lord's cage that he oh so graciously gave you? I wonder what he would do if he learned that you were here.**"

"**Be silent whore, I have nothing to say to the likes of you.**" The goddess said. The hate and disgust that she felt towards her counterpart could easily be seen though not a speck of fear could be found in her whole being. That was, if nothing else, commendable as she looked at the living embodiment of her children's sins. **"Those that would harm children have no right to look down at a mother's fury.**"

Slaanesh knew the only reason that this cowardly god would dare show its face was if there was something that it could gain from this encounter, it had no place here. The Primarchs were human and thus not it's problem, it most likely just wanted to spite his Lord just for the sake of it.

This was true for most of them, he knew that to be the truth but when he looked at the pod which was held in the Warp spawn's he could feel a connection to the Eldar that had first intrigued him. Would it not have been ironic? To have used him to put an end to those knife ears down with the beings that they saw as so inferior to them, even more ironic for one to have their blood running through his veins. He would have this become reality; no half-forgotten Eldar whore would dare stand in his way!

"**You are brave bitch, I had thought that you would be content to simply live out your days as Nurgle's plaything, but you made a grave error coming here.**" Kuzhruc said, grinning as he readied himself to rip the little wretch limb from limb.

Oh, how he had waited for this day, truly this was a great moment for Chaos. He was about to rip the being's head from her shoulder, to take delight in her pain and suffering as he broke her both physically and mentally but at that moment, oh how he could imagine her screams to. However, she did something that he did not think she would have the courage to do. She laughed. She _laughed_ at him, **HIM, **one of the Prince's truest servants! Oh, the gall of this one!

She laughed good and hard, one of her hands coming up to cover her growing smile as she chuckled at him while the other cradled the creature closer to her chest. It was a pure and noble sound, something that he would have taken pleasure in breaking, no one insults him and live to tell the tale! Kuzhruc was infuriated, how dare this little speck dare laugh at him?! HIM! Oh, she would pay for this insult!

"**What's so damn funny?!**" He roared at her, his rage making her laugh even harder at his ignorance. The sound bringing to mind soft bells, almost silent but ringing throughout the space that they inhabited, sounding innocent and pure to anyone that heard it

"**Oh, my dear foolish Keeper. Your arrogance has blinded you to your senses. You didn't think I came here without protection, did you?" **The being said, bringing her hand up to her face, cupping her chin as she proudly bore her smile for him to see. "**Go ahead and try, but I don't think my dear lord with be quite as pleased at my demise. I think that he finds my company too great to simply let me go.**"

Now that she had pointed it out, Kuzhruc could feel the Plague Lord's gaze upon their exchange. He knew that if Nurgle wanted, he could whisk the being away again and she would simply go back to being Nurgle's test tube at the drop of a hat. No, he could not afford to harm her, especially because even the smallest of wedges between the Chaos gods could lead to their undoing. Their might combined was without equal but even the tiniest of cracks would have them splinter off from each other, their animosity at each other winning over any logic.

'**I suggest that you leave servant of Slaneesh, otherwise I will make you.**' Nurgle said, telepathically as he continued his journey. '**It is but one of twenty, we have more than we need. We have enough. I will smite you beast, if you give me reason to.**'

'**You can never have enough.**' Kuzhruc hissed back, his rage making his whole-body shake. Oh, how he would love to rip this bitch limb from limb if only to be rid of that smug face of hers. But alas he could not, Nurgle would come down upon him and he knew that they could not afford any of their usual hostilities at the moment. He may be arrogant, but even he knew that he would not stand a chance against the Plague Lord. He would be but a fly compared to the might of one of the lords.

"**You live today bitch but know this.**" Kuzhruc said, glaring at the puny being as he pointed directly at the pod clenched in her hand, she held it even closer as his rage grew. "**Know that no matter where you go, where you choose to hide that boy that I will find him and that he will be mine. Maybe not now, but one day he will succumb to me. Once the Prince has set his sights on something, he takes it no matter what.**" With that the Keeper of Secrets set off, not bothering to give the being a second look.

The being sighed out of relief, her whole body relaxing now that the daemon of pleasure was finally gone. Truly that was one of the most nerve-wracking experiences that she had left in the past few millennia. She hated to use her 'patron' as a shield but what choice did, she truly have? She could not let one of her children suffer when she had the power to save him. True he was not a full blooded Eldar, but he did have the blood of the children running through his veins and that was good enough for her.

The being smiled down to the child in her arms, not roused at all by the commotion that occurred but a few moments ago. "**My, aren't you a brave little one my dear Eldarion?**" She said, chuckling as she felt the child reach out to her with his mind.

The name seemed to fit him, Eldarion meant the 'Scion of the Eldar' and what better title to grace the young one with. Yes, it sounded just right to her. He was of the Aeldari, he deserved a name that would tie him to the nobler blood that coursed through his veins.

The being wrapped herself around him, allowing him to feel her warmth and joy as she shielded him from the outside world. Nothing existed in that moment but her and the child, the bliss that only a mother could truly understand as she let that moment wash over them and wishing that she could stay like that for all eternity. But alas, it was not meant to be.

The being let out another sigh as she felt the taint that that beast had left on her dear Eldarion. The very thought that that creature had touched a harm on her boy's head made her blood boil as she allowed her hate to wash over her. She heard the child whimper as he witnessed the depths of her rage and she snapped back to the moment, calming herself and the child as she forced herself to smile once more. Truly, the taint was nothing to her power, healing was well within her sphere of influence. She brought the tips of her finger to the glass, green psychic energy building up in it as she touched his forehead. The taint of Chaos evaporated as soon as she removed her finger, allowing the being's smile to return once more.

"**Now, isn't that better little one?**" She cooed, the troubled mind of Eldarion settling as she felt him resume his peaceful slumber.

Once more, the being was glad that she could use her powers for the benefit of others. The one skill that allowed only herself to live being used for the good of others was a good feeling, truly if she had been left with a blessing with this event. Too bad that it was only thanks to her tormentor that she was able to have this. That brought up a good point, now that she had him what was she to do with him? She could not take him with here, hers was an existence that she would not wish upon her worst enemy, nor could she leave him at one of the few remaining Craftworlds. The Aeldari would see him as nothing more than another primitive, they would hate and scorn him which would result in nothing but utter hatred that the boy would carry until his dying day.

No, he would have to live with his own kind. Somewhere that the Prince of Pleasure could never reach him, where humility and temperance outshined any arrogance or excessive want. Where good and honest people looked out for one another, coming together and overcoming their differences.

'**Does such a place exist?**' The being thought, reaching out her mind towards the nearest worlds for such a place, her brow crinkled in concentration.

It took but a few moments before she felt such a world. She sprinted towards it as her time was running short and she did not want Nurgle to take the child along with her back. He may have shown benevolence to her but that did not ease her worries. If anything, that made her even more worried, anything that the Plague Lord did never had a good outcome for her.

'_Why did Nurgle assist me?'_ The being thought, a question which had plagued her since her recent 'escape'. Sure, he may have enjoyed her company, one of the few beings that could last long in his domain of the Plague Gardens, and she had 'assisted' (she shuddered at the thought) with his many project throughout the centuries. But she was always thought of as an object, a possession of his, why would he choose now to grant her assistance? The thought troubled her as she continued on her journey, putting it aside for now and focusing on her mission.

The celestial body was a vast variety of different colors, from the icy poles to the bright colors near the equator but the prominent color was a light green. This world, Avalon, was a world of honorable warriors and simple people living out their lives. They were a good and honest people that stuck to what they knew and did not want for food nor fear for their safety as they were protected by these brave men and women. She had seen many different varieties of culture and knew that this would be a perfect world for Eldarion to grow up upon. He would learn humility and empathy as he would be one of them.

She released the child, allowing the pod to follow the flow of gravity as it plummeted through the planet's gravity and towards what would be his destiny. She did not turn away from their departure, a sad smile graced her face as she watched did disappear in the distance until he was nothing more than a speck.

"**Farewell my dear Eldarion, may you find peace in your upbringing. You will need all the years of peace that is sure to come with it, you and your kind I fear will find no rest.**" The being said, willing herself away back to her cage in the Plague Gardens.

The familiar stench and ooze of every color imaginable welcomed her back as an old friend. She was lucky that the forces of Chaos were so diverted during the abduction, otherwise she did not believe that she could have gotten away with denying Slaanesh his prize. The fact that Nurgle was willing to step forward in her defense was expected, she was his and the Chaos god hated to have others touch what he owned. Like the greedy beast that he was. No matter, she had her joy in denying the Prince of Pleasure his goal and saved an innocent child as well. Truly there was nothing to regret, she would do anything that she could do in order to protect her children as a good mother should. All that was left was to spread word of her deed and hope that her children would be willing to accept her chosen one. She clasped her hands together, gathering all the power that she had left and then whispered a call to all of her Far Seers, letting them know that they had not been forgotten.

"**He who is to be the Scion of the Eldar,**

**To be the light of the Silver Star.**

**His will is to be the bridge that will overcome**

**The bonds of the mortal races that have been numbed.**

**He will travel through loss and betrayal**

**Always keeping true to his oaths portrayal.**

**He will suffer heartache and love that which is dear,**

**But will at the end be sure to persevere.**

**The fate of the Aeldari rests upon his steadfast will,**

**The Child of the Eldar will save as all."**

* * *

The sound of footsteps could be heard throughout the walls of Ulthwé, the numerous Eldar travelling throughout the Craftworld made sure that the halls were never truly silent. The man sighed out of annoyance, even throughout the wraithbone walls one could not escape them, he grabbed his staff and set out on his way.

_It was hard to find a place to properly meditate_. Eldrad thought, his mind was in flux with recent activity, his worries clouding his every step and he needed time in order to properly process it. True there was the Hall of Seers but with so many fellow psykers it made truly listening to the flow of time too difficult, more of a hassle than it needed to be if there was just silence.

"I presume that there will be no rest for tonight I am afraid." Eldrad said, following the halls to his destination. The halls themselves were a testament to what their people were once, the technological wonders that kept the Craftworld floating as well as the architectural design made Eldrad yearn for the days when they were the pinnacle species of this realm and they served the will of the gods. Now, they were barely any of them left, the gods devoured by the Prince of Pleasure and nothing was left to protect them from the horrors of the Warp. Everyday they draw closer to extinction, a few more Aeldari innocents die and are lost to the ether.

_It appears as if the gods have truly abandoned us. _Eldrad thought, looking out one of the many windows. There was the sight of what they had become, the figure was a creature of death and fire, weaving its sword back and forth even though their enemy had long since been forced back to the Warp. To think that they needed to give one of their best in order to bring back only a shard of Lord Khaine, the god that was still with them after all this time, only to constantly have to sacrifice one of their own for his temporary revival.

The being roared, cursing in the tongue of the gods as it screeched its fury. It brought its fiery great sword down on its chain, tossing the poor attendant that was trying to get it back on its shrine only to be tossed around like a leaf in a storm. The Shard threw the attendant back, roaring in rage and tried to ring the life out of him, every step towards him the attendant cowered and continued the seconds to his demise. When it reached him, the Shard grinned before grasping him by the neck, ready to spill Eldar blood as he had done for years before his 'death'. Only for astral chains to bind it back into place, the Avatar's eyes wide in raged shock, tearing at the binding that were forged anew. A team of their strongest Warlocks forcing the Avatar back into its shrine, grim-faced as it cursed them.

Eldrad just looked on. He was unimpressed with the incident, the notion that they were so weak that they could not even go throughout a single battle without relying on the Champion made him think of the days of old, where a team of Aeldari Shrine Warriors could beat back the daemons all on their own. But that was a long time ago, the glory days of Craftworld Ulthwé were long behind them. Now the number of their martial warriors was abysmally low, the constant battle with Chaos taking its toll on them and it would not be long before they would have to retreat.

_Though where to, even I have problems seeing. _Eldrad thought, contemplating his conidium. He continued on his way, the screeching of the fallen Eldar god soon falling to silence as he moved towards his chambers. They had been sent her to investigate the recent influx of daemonic presence, even worse than the fall of the mon-keigh millennia past, the recent disturbance in the Warp unprecedented since the birth of the Prince of Pleasure.

"But what could be causing it?" Eldrad thought aloud, leaning on his staff as he pondered. Could it be the stirring of the Emperor's 'crusade'? True he had heard reports of humanity's guardian unifying their home planet, his sight granting him such knowledge that he knew that it would not brood well for them.

_Could that be the reason? This so called 'Emperor's' doing? _Eldrad thought on it a bit before dismissing the thought. Say what you will of the mon-keigh, but the shaman would never allow his race to fall to their perversion, Eldrad knew that this Emperor would not allow humanity's fall into darkness (much as the Aeldari's Drukhari had) to prosper.

Eldrad finally reached the door to his chambers, opening them with a flick of the wrist and sitting down. For a Farseer his rooms were shockingly bare, housing only the necessities that he needed. There was a single bed of simple make, a desk on which he could write and file his reports, a spot on which he would meditate and reflect on the weave of time. It was a far cry from the luxury that the Eldar were used to but Eldrad felt that it was more than enough, knowing that such luxury and laxness was the catalyst from which their greatest enemy was spawned.

Eldrad deposited his staff next to his mat, propping it up into the corner before easing himself into his meditative state, legs crossed, and arms draped over his lap. For a Farseer of his level there was no need to get into the pose taught to the beginning Seers, but Eldrad found that it helped ease his mind and put him into the proper mindset for the task. It was never easy to glimpse the future, Eldrad needed his fully concentration for this task made all the more difficult because of the large amount of daemonic activity. But it needed to be done.

_Let's see what is causing this mayhem shall we? _Eldrad thought, diving deep into the ether and losing himself into the flow of time. Blue waves seeped from his form, covering everything in the room and washing it in the power of the Farseer. The deck rattled and shook, the bed's covers were afloat, and the staff rocked back and forth, seeming to debate on whether to jump to its master's hand. There was something amiss.

Eldrad opened his eyes, looking upon the weave of time as it flowed and fluxed, another thousand laid next to it as they too remained in constant motion. Trying to describe the methods of how to read time was as hard as describing a color to a blind man, you do not truly know where to begin and where to end, it just is. Eldrad focused in on his world's line, watching it for signs of movement, trying to determine where it all went wrong.

_It's got to be here somewhere. _Eldrad thought, his eyes scanning the lines, watching as four blights of red appeared on the otherwise blue line. They focused in on one moment, the remnants of their power clear to see as they all together split, tearing a hole in the line and scattering in four different directions, each carrying four different balls of light within their grasp. He focused in on the Secret Keeper, watching as it seeped its power into the four lights in its hand, the mark of Chaos clear to see for someone of his experience. The Keeper started to deposit these beings in what seemed like a random order: one being left to a world of iron mountains, stretching out to the sky, another was left on a dust bowl of a planet, the world a place of eternal twilight, another on an empty tomb of a world, nothing left from the over indulgence of the mon-keigh and left to rot with the few primates left to work it. Eldrad remembered all of them, knowing that someday this would ring throughout the known galaxy, these beings would be the center point of the shaman's grand scheme.

What happened to the last, however, was something that not even he could have foreseen with all of his foresight. He saw the Keeper gleefully toss the last light to its chosen world, a world of pleasure and superiority that would make even Slaanesh blush, only to be stopped. This should not be possible, Eldrad remembered years later looking back, the ball of light was stopped and caught by a being who's presence was unknown to Eldrad, the only hint being a slight sense of déjà vu as if they had meet at some point. He watched as the two beings interacted, not willing to risk the Keeper's attention, and watched as the two-split apart from each other and the being cradling the little light close to it. This being proceeded to make haste a world, one in which he would have engraved in his mind if need be, before depositing it upon the world and then disappearing, but not before looking up towards him and he could feel the smile that was meant for him.

Eldrad heard a voice whisper into his ear, a sweet and nurturing voice that spoke with the maternal love of an unlimited patience:

"**He who is to be the Scion of the Eldar,**

**To be the light of the Silver Star.**

**His will is to be the bridge that will overcome**

**The bonds of the mortal races that have been numbed.**

**He will travel through loss and betrayal**

**Always keeping true to his oaths portrayal.**

**He will suffer heartache and love that which is dear,**

**But will at the end be sure to persevere.**

**The fate of the Aeldari rests upon his steadfast will,**

**The Child of the Eldar will save as all."**

Those words rung throughout Eldrad's mind, burning themselves into his memory. They would surely be occupying his mind for quite some time. The Farseer looked closer, trying to get a better view of the being (it was so familiar, the name just on the tip of his tongue) but it disappeared as soon as it appeared, fading into the ether from whence it came. He sighed, resigning himself to the fact that it's identity would be kept hidden for now.

Eldrad opened his eyes, looking around his quarters and with a flick of his hand setting everything back in order. _That was one of the most intense visions that I have witnessed, in a long time._ Eldrad thought, picking up his cane and setting out. The Council needed to know, a new prophecy was gifted to them and it needed to fulfilled.

"The Child of the Eldar." Eldrad mused, his mind searching throughout all the knowledge that he could recall in that moment. Who was that being? What did it want? Why was the Enemy so concerned with these twenty beings? Questions that would soon need answers, answers that would lead to a hope for their people. Eldrad thought long and hard on this as he pondered, not reaching any definite answer for quite so time, the answer coming from the most unlikely of places.

As he sat there and pondered, he heard the all too familiar shriek of their War God, rattling chains echoing throughout the halls. Eldrad sighed, used to the constant bombardment of noise but it did not make it any less depressed over their situation.

_Why can the Gods not gift as something truly helpful? Are we so barren that even the remnants of our Lords is lost to us? _Eldrad thought, despair clouding his mind before he realized; that being had a familiar feeling to that of Khaine.

Eldrad's eyes widened at the revelation, how could he be so foolish as to not notice? True there were differences between them: where Khaine was rage and bloodlust incarnate, this being was gentle and serenity. Maybe all hope was not so lost as he believed. Perhaps this was a last-ditch effort to help them, the Gods had not abandoned them!

Eldrad picked up his staff, flying to its master's hand, put his helmet back onto his head and walked out the door. This was not the stature of a man who was barely getting by day to day, this was the stature of a man who believed that he could take on the world and stand triumph.

"Not a hope, a chance." Eldrad thought aloud, resolving himself to do whatever needed to be done. They had been given a second chance, this 'Scion' would be it and he would be damned before he let it slip through his fingers!

* * *

**So what do you all think? Any feedback that you have would be greatly appreciated, I think that you guys might have an idea where this is going.**

**I would like to thank my pal Mojo1586 for his feedback, I wouldn't be able to write so well without him.**

**Originally, I wasn't even going to show an Aeldari's response to this but then I remembered our boy Eldrad, got to show how the Eldar are responding because of how close they are to the situation.**

**I think a lot of you can guess who the being might be, however I humbly request that you do not say so in the comments section. Let people come to their own conclusions and ideas, all will be revealed in due time.**

**Next time, we will be getting our first look at Avalon and the kind of life the XI will be living. There is a lot of information to digest there so I am thinking of doing a lore bullet point at the end of every chapter. Tell me what you guys think of that and I thank you for listening to my ramblings, see you next time!**


	3. Chapter 3 A Starlit Night Shines

**Hey guys, what's going on? I would just to thank everyone that choose to follow favorite or comment on this story. It really means a lot to me and gets me motivated to knock these chapters out, for right now it seems like it will be one a month and I might decide to juggle this story with another that I have been thinking about regarding Hellsing. Any who, it's the time that you have all been ready for: it's time to finally see what Avalon is all about and I hope that you enjoy reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing about it.**

Chapter 3: A Starlit Night Shines Upon a New Path

Ser Catherine was troubled. This was nothing new, there was always troubled to be found on the bridge and always a new pillager wanting what they thought they could take. The glory of being able to overtake the great Shields of the River spurred on more than one such a raider but they all ended up the same. Dead and thrown to the crows, the honorless curs deserved nothing less for what they would surely do to the innocents that they sought to exploit.

Catherina sighed, tugging on the reins of the old varactyl that she had saddled for her patrol. The color of the beast's once bright green scales had aged to a dull green. Still, she had proven her worth time and time again so Catherine would choose her time and time again. She pulled back a bit on the reins, Celeri slowing down at her partner's command. Catherine readjusted herself back into position in her leather saddle, it seemed that the old girl had a bit of fire in her tonight.

Catherine had raised Celeri since the moment that she hatched, her mother having dumped her and her siblings the moment that they were hatched. It was the way of the varactyl, only the strong were meant to survive. But looking at the poor dear, those clear blue eyes looking up at her and her cute crown of feathers, she had chosen her as her partner the moment that they meet. Every knight had been trained to ride a varactyl but only those that had forged a bond with one knew that they could ride no other steed, when you ride your partner into battle it made you feel complete in a way that nothing else could.

It truly was nice to be able to get away from her brothers for a bit, being one of the few lady knights did make it hard on her at times, some of the newer recruits had taken to calling her 'Caterina of the Serene Smile' for the fact that she always seemed to have an easy going smile on her face. They quickly learned that that smile could be just as terrifying as any glare that the old masters of the order could hash out to them, but the name still stuck. She spurred the reins on her stead, happy for the solitude that came with patrol duty, nothing but her and the open wetlands for company. Truly, this was the life for her.

She remembered when she first came to join the Shields, how no one had truly believed in her. How the other recruits would mock her, stating that a lady like her had no business learning to wield a sword. How the only weapon that a would should wield is that of a smile and a curtesy, her beauty doing the real work. She remembered the proper thrashing that she gave them in turn, all with that light, serene smile upon her face. They learned never to bring that up again, the cowards shacked in their power boots whenever she passed them by.

Catherine stopped her stead, taking in the open air and just surveying the land around her. The Riverlands were truly the most beautiful land on Avalon in her humble opinion. The river for which they were named ran all throughout the territory, allowing for great farmland and livestock raising thanks to its close proximity. Thankfully it was not swampy and muddy, the weather allowing enough warmth that the rain never built up too much unlike some of the other kingdoms which was a blessing. The only true downside of the open and prosperous land were the constant marauders that frequented the area along with lesser and more dishonest knightly orders that sought the fame of destroying the Shields of the River. Thankfully they were able to repel most of them and thanks to their isolation, their lords were kept out of the greater political turmoil that often lead to them sending their private forces along with the local peasantry to battle.

'_Thank the spirits that we don't have to deal with that.'_ Catherine thought, a content look upon her face sprouting. She was happy for her position and would not change it for anything in all of Avalon. She was well respected in her order, she had good friends and allies in the other orders in the other kingdoms and she wasn't just some bargaining chip that her father had wanted to sell off in order to profit from her unloved union. Truly, there was nothing more that she could ever want. But it is with moments like these that the world likes to send us surprises, be they small or large, as if saying that stagnancy is not tolerated no matter who you are or what position you hold in life.

The Ice Wraiths and the Golden Helms were at it again from what her sources were able to gather. The Golden Helms accusing the Wraiths of killing a squad of their who were going to speak with the King of Hiems, stating that they were on a sanctioned mission from their lord to deliver a message. The Ice Wraiths stated that the Golden Helms had no right to step foot in their lands, claiming that they had not seen any squad and if they did that they would have sent them back with their, and quote, 'southern tails in between their legs' from the beating that they would give them. Now, the two orders were back to killing one another over a simple misunderstanding and as always, the Shields of the River were caught in between.

Both Ser Terryn of the Golden Helms and Ser Merek of the Ice Wraiths had petitioned for her aids, Merek stating that the Shields owed it to themselves to have their just vengeance and how they had always been steadfast allies. This notion of an alliance with the Wraiths was news to her, while it is true that trade between their kingdoms had flourished Catherine did not see the notion that they needed to send their men to die for it. As for Ser Terryn, there was no love lost between; his uncle had killed her beloved brother and she had slain him for it, they knew where the other stood and since then they have not said a word to the other. But she gave them the same response: stay out of the Riverlands or their men would be slaughtered for thinking them easy pickings. So far all they had had to deal with ever a few arrogant knights who thought they could best them, both sides getting the same burial when they tried their luck: a quick sweep off into the raging waters of the river below.

_Perhaps it might be a good idea to beseech Jeremiah for assistance, _Catherine thought, clicking her tongue as Celeri tried to increase her speed, something in the air no doubt spooking her stead.

Ser Jeremiah had always been a loyal friend to her brother, the lord of the Silver Legion would no doubt jump to their aid if asked. He had been fostered with them and learned what it meant to be a knight, swore brotherhood with her brother Dustriel and had always been true to his word. They did not call Jeremiah the Oathkeeper for nothing, he was the true embodiment of what it meant to be a Silver Legionnaire. No doubt the reason why he was elected to the rank of Grand Master. But she would not call him, he was no doubt training with his men and being a good father to his son Jibril, she would not tear him away unless absolutely necessary. Catherine knew all too well how important it was to stay by your family's side.

Catherine looked out upon the night sky, soaking in the beauty of the stars before one in them in particular caught her eye. It was a strange one, unlike many of the others it didn't seem to keep a fixed position. It kept streaking throughout the night sky, Catherine had seen a meteor shower as a young girl and once wished upon it, now it just seemed silly to do in hindsight, but she was a girl at the time and allowed some foolishness in her youth. She wished that she would be free to explore the world undeterred by anyone, her brother Dustriel just smiled and ruffled her hair playfully as she tried to swipe at him. Truly, those were the days.

She watched the meteor fly throughout the night sky, watching as it just got bigger and bigger before it flew beyond her position and crashed into the riverbank below. The impact of the meteor would have been enough to have caused a lesser rider to fall from their varactyl but not Catherine, she was a knight of the Riverlands, she would be damned before playing the part of a damsel.

She jumped off her varactyl and sprinted towards the bank, drawing the glaive from her saddle as she descended. The creak of her old power armor seemed to sound as if a gunshot had gone off in the night air, the emerald shine inlayed in the ancient suit shined even now as she rushed off towards unknown danger. Her power glaive in her hand ached to draw blood, her finger ready to touch the rune which would bring it to life, the bolt revolver at her hip a backup if all else failed. All in all, Catherine was quite the intimidating figure as she rushed off, the obsidian turtle on her pauldron marking her as one of the fabled Shields of old, willing to do whatever to defend her homeland.

If it was some kind of attack or proved hostile, she would be sure that she would take care of it. Hopefully none of the other great orders had done this as a declaration of war. The thought that one of the major orders had finally turned their attention upon them was not a favorable idea. Perhaps she should have called the Legion, it seemed a wise course of action in hindsight.

As she approached the crash site, she felt a probe poke her mind, her old instincts flaring up as she raised her mental shields around her mind tightly as she was trained to. Catherine, like many within the Shields, was trained in the mystic arts and knew what needed to be done to avoid supernatural encounters. After she rebutted the probe, she never stopped sprinting towards the object, though at a closer examination it appeared to be a pod of some kind.

'_What could be lurking in there?'_ she thought, finally close enough that she could get a better look at this strange object that appeared from the heavens.

Though she was no technology savant like those within the ranks of the Parchment Knights, she could at least tell that this pod was well beyond what they could create. It was pristine and well made, the craftsmanship showed care for it, so it was obviously important to someone. The eldritch runes laid within it sparked her interest, the feeling of the power seeping through them before they laid, leaving them dormant. Catherine would have continued her search if not for a sudden cry from the pod.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!" she heard, instantly knowing that it was a child inside the pod. For it to cry out that much there must have been something wrong.

Catherine looked through the glass which served as the front of the pod. Shockingly enough it was still intact and instantly saw the small child that was within. She tried to smash open the glass with her hand, beating it so that she could get to the child within and soothe him back to peace before it proved too strong. Catherine sighed, backing up a bit as she readied her powers to shatter the glass. If she were to use her blade there was a chance, no matter how small, that she could end up hurting the child and she was not willing to chance that. Eldritch energy forming in her palm, shaping into a proper shield as she had done countless times before. The shield was only big enough to cover her forearm when she wielded it but that would be more than enough for her needs. Catherine smashed the psychic shield into the glass, shattering it immediately and quickly gathering the child to her chest to make sure that he was not harmed from the debris.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" The child cried, fat tears streaming down his face. Catherine tried to soothe him, rocking him and making soothing noises as to ease his discomfort and to silence his cries. Though she was inexperienced in the ways of childcare she must have been doing something right as he soon stopped his cries, soon turning into whimpers then into peaceful silence.

Catherine removed the cloak from her back, wrapping him in it's dark green embrace. She had heard that young children were prone to sickness when exposed to the elements, something that she wanted to avoid as much as she could. She did not want to have to get him to be quiet once more, to be honest she didn't know how she did it the first time. What she did was mostly instinct rather than any true skill with children.

She looked down at the child in her arms, taking in his appearance and committing it to memory. He had a good deal of brown hair for an infant, meeting at the level of his eyes and with the purest molten gold eyes that she had ever seen, their almond shape strange in her eyes but they seemed to work fine. They sparkled with the innocence that only youth could bring, an innocence that Catherine had dedicated to preserving in her people's eyes but now felt the same obligation to this child as well. Though they were the eyes of an infant, they also spoke of a deep intelligence that she had only seen in the Parchment Knights of the land of Keats, deep and wise they were but lacked the gleam of trained men. All in all, this was a child that Catherine loved at the first sight of him. She felt the protective maternal instincts surge up in her, something that she thought would never happen but now that they have, she would put them to good use.

Catherine looked at the child in her arms, wisps of brown hair and a pair of golden eyes looked up at her in curiosity, his head cocked to the side as he took in her form. She chuckled. "Now, that's much better isn't it little one?"

Catherine did not expect any response, truly what did a baby have to say? But she felt that probe poke her mind once again, she looked towards the source, her eyes scouring the area before she looked down at the bundle in her arms. It seemed unusual, as if he had some understanding of what he was seeing, those golden orbs drinking in the world of all it's secret and still wanting more.

She felt him poke her mind again, this time allowing him to enter (going against every instinct that she had engrained in herself), feeling his comfort and joy and melting at the sweet thoughts that he was bombarding upon her. Truly, this was a blessed child.

Catherine had heard of such incidents happening before, that young men and women would instinctively call upon the Power within them and great disaster was known to follow those that were unskilled in its use. One had to train for years before safely being able to call upon it, training to know one's boundaries and to never cross them. No good could come with leaving this child unattended in the care of a farmer or a blacksmith, this potential needed to be carefully looked after. The Shields were one of the few that were truly proficient in the eldritch arts, many sending the so called 'witches' to them in the hopes that something good could be done. Many of her brother knights were such undesirables and yet they were some of the most skilled and brave men that the kingdom was blessed to have.

'_But who could be trusted to do look after a child this gifted?'_

Could she be the one to take this child in? She had no knowledge on how to raise a child, her upbringing as a noble did not prepare her for this. All her life she had wanted to be a knight, her brother Dustriel had been the only one that supported her in her endeavor and helped trick Father when it came time for him to leave on his apprenticeship to the bridge Knight of the time. It was he that helped smuggle her away to the Shields and once her oath was sworn to defend the bridge, her Father had disowned her and cast her out as a Nuhera. If there was one person that she could trust with something this important, it would have been him. Sadly, he died in the line of duty defending her and she was forced to become the next Bridge Knight as his dying wish, the only atonement for her inability to save one of the only people who truly cared for her.

"I do not know what the future may hold little one, but I do know what my foolish older brother would tell me to do in this situation." Catherine said, smiling down at the child, her smile all the brighter as she thought of what her brother would well her to do.

'_Step up and take responsibility yourself.' _She could imagine him saying, that sly grin on his face and the ease in which he presented himself leaking from him. Yes, she knew that that was what he would want her to do.

'_He will need a name.'_ she thought, humming to herself as she went through the names of her brothers in the Shields. It would have to be something noble and just, something that would command respect as a Nuhera as well as the kindness and compassion that her brother was well known for. _'Wait, that's it!'_

"Dustriel, your name shall be Dustriel Nuhera. Named after the brother that I loved so much. I can only hope that you grow to be at least half as good a man as he was." Catherine said, her happiness radiating off her entire being at her revelation. Looking down at the boy as if he would be happy at her choice of name. He gave a giggle, her thoughts putting his body at ease as he settled into his new care taker's arms contently.

"I will not let anything in this world hurt you my sweet one, no matter what happens I will always protect you." Catherine said, holding him close to her as she set off to her old verdigris again. Keeping one hand on the reins while the other kept the newly named Dustriel secured to her chest. She was in luck that her Celeri was gifted with plenty of experience in easy riding, one of the young hatchlings would have proved too wild carrying a young child.

The journey was an all too familiar one, a long and well-worn road that Catherine had traveled countless times before, the company only made the journey all the better as she kept telling him of her home and her brothers in arms, not caring that he could not respond back to her. The child seemed to take it all in, his eyes holding that keen edge that spoke of deeper understanding than what could be expected of an infant.

"And the next thing that we knew, your namesake pulled the trigger and it flew back right in his face! If it wasn't for his helmet. I'm sure that the force would have broken his nose. Though I would have felt bad for all of the female recruits that had their little crushes on him." Catherine cooed, laughing at the memory of her older brother's first target practice. The man was a great knight but a horrible shot, his only saving grace his skill with the sword. There were few that could hope to match the man blade to blade, they did not call him 'Dustriel the Keen Edge' for his sly nature alone. She did not know why she was saying all of this, she was only talking to a baby after all. But as she kept rambling on and on, it seemed as if she could feel the curiosity in his mind, encouraging her to continue and thus she did.

Catherine steered Celeri down the familiar and well-worn path, pointing out all the sights and recounting the experiences that she had experienced as she trained to be a knight. It was a hard path to be sure, not many in the order believed that she could succeed but thanks to her brother and some of the more open-minded masters she did. This place was her home more than her father's keep could ever be. As they turned the corner did Catherine truly allow a smile to grace her face, looking out at the bridge that the Shields of the River had been defending since the original grand master swore allegiance to Lord Amberton, the King of the Isle.

"That my dear, is the Iron River." Catherine said, gesturing out towards the magnificent dark metal bridge that the noble house of Amberton had long laid claim to. The only safeguard that kept the warring nations of Avalon out of their lands. "I know that the name might appear strange but in truth it fits this old bridge more than fine."

Truly it did. The bridge was named the Iron River because it was as impassible as the river that it crossed. Only those that were allowed safe passage across and bore no ill will to the land's inhabitants had ever gotten across. From the days of the original grand master, Ser Iohannis the Bridge Knight, the Iron River had been unconquered and those that had tried had been long dead.

It was said that Ser Iohannis was able to hold off almost a hundred men by himself, no matter what wounds he had sustained or trickery his enemies tried to pull on him, he had defended the Iron River until his dying day. His use of the Power was adopted by their order and they had all strived to match his prowess in the art of abjuration, the school of shields and wards, but none had succeeded yet. The name Bridge Knight had been given to every new Grand Master inducted into the order in honor of their first grand master, swearing that they will uphold it with the same passion that Iohannis did.

It was a humongous piece of art as well as one of the most fortified structures in the land. The craftsmanship on it was a thing of beauty, showcasing the strength of their walls and one could only look at it but once to see why it was never occupied by another. The bridge itself stretched over four thousand feet tall, it's dark walls keeping out all intruders and showing the resilient of the men who guarded it. The walls were made of a strong metal known as obsidian, an ancient metal that once flourished in a few mines in the Riverlands, but they were all emptied in order to build the bridge and to be inlayed in the armor of the knights who defended it.

The only way across was through two thick gates, one at one side of the bridge and the other at the opposite end, a third was placed in between. This made it quite easy for the Shields to defend their territory, breaking up the enemies into different sections and cutting them down one by one, it was no wonder that they were known throughout the land as the order with the greatest defensive abilities.

They were always each guarded by a few dozen good men at each gate at all times, another couple dozen positioned on numerous guard towers and walking the bridge. It was a great honor to be selected as one of the Watchers of the Gate but the recruits only grumbled and muttered curses when they heard the higher ups talk about 'glorified gate duty'. Catherine could agree with them to a degree, she too had grumbled in their position, but she had learned humility and service during her tenure as a guard. They were learning the same lesson that she once did. It sowed the seeds of brotherhood in their recruits, as they say that shared suffering brings people together after all.

"Oi, open the gates, already would you?" Catherine yelled, grinning as some of the guards seemed to freeze up at the sound of her voice. Catherine allowed her small smile to grow a bit, the sight of some of the arrogant new recruits were always the funniest to rail up. They slowly turned their gaze up to her, their eyes frozen in terror as she looked at them with her trademark smile, though it had taken a more vicious edge as she looked at them.

"And what, are you lot doing, standing there and grumbling to yourselves?" Catherine asked, shifting her hold on Dustriel so that he was out of sight. "If I was able to walk up here without so much as being stopped by one of you then I worry for our safety."

"L-Lord Bridge Knight!" One of the them stuttered out, the fear in his stature making the commander chuckle to herself. "We were just doing our rounds; we did not expect you back so early."

She shook her head at them, "Always expect the unexpected my brothers, otherwise we'll invite our enemies to our gates if we are not careful."

The men nodded at her, saluting her as she carried on. None taking notice of the emerald bundle, too scared witless by the surprise arrival of the Lord Bridge Knight.  
Catherine shot a glance back at them, guiding Celeri through the gate, making sure that none were close enough to see what lay in her arms. _Truly, I feel that I play the part of the rogue a little too well. _She thought, chuckling to herself at the thought. No rogue worth his salt would be having the stress that this venture was putting her through.

Catherine nodded to each of the men that she passed, all taking the time to acknowledge her be it by wave, salute or a nod of the head. The large amount of men not enough as far as she was concerned, sending her brothers out to settle quarries between minor nobles having them a bit short handed but at least it turned out in her favor. She looked up to the top of the middle gate, noting one of the old masters taking his post, a job normally reserved for her unless she chose to delegate it.

"Halt, who goes there?" The Master cried out from the front of the gate. "Who dares approach the Iron Bridge? What is your name and what is your purpose?"

'_At least someone seems to know how to do their job.'_ Catherine thought, nodding to the aged old knight who had just addressed her. That was the greeting that was given to everyone who wished to cross the bridge. These were the very words that Ser Iohannis had said to everyone during his long years guarding the River, the words becoming tied to the position of Grand Master as time went on. Normally it would be her job to keep watch at the gate but tonight she needed the ride, looking down at the bundle in her arms she was convinced that it was destiny's work at play.

"Ser Catherine, the Lord Bridge Knight, I demand that you allow me entry as it's truest protector." Catherine asked, readjusting herself to hide Dustriel from their sight. No need to worry them just yet, she was just lucky that it was so dark out so none of the guards could get a good look at what she was holding.

"Welcome back Ser Catherine, you may enter and may the waters guard you Lord Bridge Knight." The Master yelled back, his respect for the female knight apparent to see.

"And may they guard you as well brother." Catherine yelled back, nodding as he had the gate risen for her. While many may scoff at them for their tight security, it was one of the only reasons why they had never been invaded in these last few centuries. One can only trust arms and guns to do so much, sometimes a few extra reinforced walls and gates work just as well.

Catherine nodded and continued towards the gates, nodding to each of her newly minted brothers as she walked through. She continued on her way, keeping a vigilant watch over the area as she scanned for intruders or some of her men that she did not wish to run into tonight. If they saw her with Dustriel word would spread to all over and that was not something that she wanted right now. She needed to make her intentions and thoughts clear to her men to make sure that they did not get the wrong idea by coming to their own conclusion. _Though to be truthful, anyone who spread such rumors would be run through by their brothers._

Catherine of the Serene Smile was well respected by her men, the few noble born that had asked for her hand did not take well to her rejection of them. Her brothers did not take their insults as well as she did, after dismissing them she would find a mob of them taking turns beating the poor boys before she had to force them to let the fools go home. She remembered the telling off that she gave them,

"_What did you think such a thing would accomplish?" Catherine asked, a dangerous smile on her face as she looked at her men. They all looked in terror, the only one willing to meet her eyes being the ringleader, neither flinching nor showing fear. She recognized him as one of the boys who used to tease her quite a bit back during their training. How times have changed._

"_He insulted you milady, we could not just stand idly by and allow such a thing to happen." He said, resolved, "If you must punish someone, punish me. But I do not reject my actions, only that it had to be done."_

Catherine smiled at the memory, proud of her men but she couldn't show it, else they would try to get away with even more misconduct. Dustriel was her son, she would make that clear to all, and knowing them they would accept him as one of their own. What was one more misfit in a whole pack of them? A good deal of her men were outcasts, be they bastards noblemen or smallfolk, they still treated each other as brothers.

_Now they just have a little brother to add to the mix, _Catherine thought, humming at the thought.

But they also did not need to know from whence he came from, otherwise the risk of the nobility coming to take the 'star child' away might become a notion, heck maybe the Parchment Knights would show and try to take the machinery away as well. _Though that wouldn't be the worst thing to happen, those greedy scholars would do anything for a scrap of that thing._

Catherine looked about, shocked to find herself already at the Masters' tower, the old walls and sight of the high tower letting her know she was at her destination. She was safely able to make it to her quarters, closing the door as soon as she was through, ducking in and making sure that none of the servants were about.

Her room was a tad bit large than the average quarters of her men, the necessity of properly running the order forcing her into expanding her old room. If it was up to Catherine then she would be resting with her brothers, not liking the distance that she had to set between herself and her men but even her brother knew that going against regulations could prove disastrous. The walls were covered in the banners of the Shields of the River, the dark green along with the light blue background made their sigil all the clearer. The symbol of the tortoise across the twin gates behind it was the center point of the flags, the words of their order were listed below: Brotherhood, Bravery, Honesty. Along the walls there were bookshelves and a desk, the latter messy with the overflow of paperwork that was required of her. But these were merely secondary to what truly highlighted the room.

All throughout the room, on shelves and racks on the backwall, were numerous weapons that Catherine had picked up throughout the years. On a stand in the corner was her own personal glaive, bare of any accessories except for the sigil of the tortoise on the handle. On the wall were the weapons of her fallen adversaries, the most prominent was the sword of Ser Cadmus, the man who had killed her brother. He was a sadistically cruel man who had taken pleasure in Dustriel's death, but she had paid him back twofold, stabbing him through the gut and letting him bleed to death for his evil act. She only took his sword as payment before leaving him there to die, his curses still rung in her head as she looked at the vile blade. And lastly, Catherine's eyes watered a bit as she looked over the ruined remains of her brother's beloved bolt revolver.

The gun was kept in a separate case on her desk, its silver cylinder was cut down the middle and the barrel completely separated from the other two pieces, nothing more than a constant reminder of that day. It was a gift from the Grand Master of the Silver Legion, a token of friendship that he wished to impart upon her brother. It was a well-crafted weapon, hand forged by the smiths of the Silver Legion themselves, the silver mixed well with the many different engraving that ran along the barrel. There was the sigil of the turtle, their sigil, as well as the hippogriff that was the mark of the Silver Legion. The two were side by side, symbolizing the close friendship that the two orders shared as their methods and ideologies matched up fairly well with one another.

This all went through her head along with the knowledge that she was now a mother, the thought almost overwhelmed her as she sunk into her seat and processed what she needed to do, not just for herself but for her new son as well.

'_What should I tell them? That he was just some orphan that I found and decided to raise as my own?',_ Catherine thought pondering her conundrum. While not necessarily a bad thing, it would not explain why she had decided to take up responsibility for him. Whatever had to be done, she would make sure that it was. This child was now underneath her protection and she would make sure that he was well taken care of. She would have to tell her officers, make sure that they knew the circumstances and then try to find out as much as she could, perhaps ask some of the other orders and see what they thought of this.

Catherine opened the door, looking back and forth down the hallway, spotting one of the pages polishing the stone floor. "You, Boy." Catherine called out, the boy looking up from his scrubbing and jumped to attention, hasty making his way over.

She could tell that the boy was not noble born, his features common and she could tell from the look of his hands he was more used to the feel of a plow than a sword. _He must have done something to have impressed his apprenticed knight._

"Y-Yes milady, what do you w-want?" The page asked, stuttering out his words, the nervousness understandable. No doubt he had heard tall tales about her from his fellow apprentices. "No, I'm sorry. What can I do for you?"  
"I was wondering, would it be possible for you to get Master Bryden for me?" Catherine smiled, nodding down at the poor boy. She could tell that he had meant to offense, just a little nervous and she had come to expect such a reaction with her reputation. A little encouragement would do the boy some good.

"O-Of course, I will fetch him at once." The boy said, looking down but he was able to clear up his speech.

Catherine waved goodbye to the young boy, a little blush forming on his cheeks as he ran off to do as he was bid. It was always good to see the pages so full of energy, reminding her of what she was like as a page.

_Hopefully Bryden will know what must be done. _Catherine thought, confident that the old knight would know what to do. Ser Bryden had taken the Nuhera children under his wing and shaped them into the knights that they would become. The man was the closest that Catherine had ever had to a true father, nurturing her and encouraging her on the path of knighthood, letting the two of them get away with whatever mischief they were up to and taking the blame for their misconduct.

Catherine still had a few phantom scars from when he had to disciple her for causing too much trouble, the old man had made her go outside and craft a switch for him, which he used on her a few times, her father having done the same. The only difference was that he was there for her, holding her as she cried and whispering soothing words into her ear after he had done it.

Catherine smiled at the memory, bouncing her new charge a few times to keep him at ease. A few minutes passed, though they seemed to stretch on forever as she waited. Sipping from the mug that she always keeps on her table, that would be something the old knight would probably reprimand her for as well.

A knock on the door snapped her out of her thoughts, a muffled dismissal of the lad and she was greeted with the sight of the man who fostered her here. Ser Bryden was a large man, the ancient power armor he normally wore replaced with a simple tunic, but he kept his power sword strapped to his belt.

She remembered when she first came here that he had a full head of black hair, now what remained was gray and his scalp balding. Her brother had always teased their master that he was going bald, the old man never heeded his words and always cuffed him for saying it, stating that _"It would come true from all the stress that you two put me through."_ She had to keep her chuckles to herself as he tried to pat down a few loose strands, the man looked as if he just crawled out of bed (which he most likely did at this hour) and looked a bit upset at this fact, no doubt her was tired from a long day of battering around the new blood.

"Damn it girl, what's so important that you felt the need to wake me up at this hour?" Bryden snarled, though she could tell from his demeanor that he wasn't truly angry at her.

"Is that anyway to speak to your Lord Bridge Knight Master Bryden?" Catherine asked, looking the aged knight in the eye, her right eyebrow raised in question.

"That's how I've talked to you since you got here young lady," Allister said, cracking a smile at his companion's expression, "And I'll die before some fancy title makes me treat you any differently. Now, why have you called for me Catherine? I have enough problems wiping the recruits into good enough shape before their masters have a pick of the lot. Most of these lads are more used to the feel of a smith's hammer or a farmer's hoe than a spear I'm afraid."

"This, my friend." Catherine said, walking over to the bed and picking the sleeping child up, holding him comfortably in the crock of her elbow. "This is why I need your help."

Allister looked in shock at the bundle of her surrogate daughter's arms, if not for his many years of etiquette training as a boy his jaw would be on the ground. "Please tell me that this isn't your bast-"

"Do not even speak the word Ser Allister." Catherine said, her eyes two jade daggers that promised retribution if he continued. "But no, this child is not mine by blood."  
"Then what is he?" Allister asked, confused "Is he perhaps a fling that Dustriel had with some poor lass, we both know that he could come across strongly to innocent maids."  
Catherine shook her head at the question, "No, say what you will of Dustriel but he would have never fathered a bastard. The most that man could do was speak honeyed words, when it came down to it, he was a stuttering mess, only good to put on his persona."

"Then where did he come from?" Allister asked again, intrigued. Never had Catherine been one to be saddled with womanly duties since taking her knightly oaths, stating that she was too busy with her martial skills to pick up a needle or speak to a man fondly as a maiden should. To see her holding this child, the soft smile upon her lips as she looked upon the infant with the upmost love that a mother could, it warmed his heart.

"He came from the stars old friend." Catherine said, looking down as the child grabbed a hold of a strand of her red hair, giggling as he pulled it.

"From the stars?" Allister asked, shaking his head at the notion, "I would never take you to be the poetic type Catherine, I'd say leave that to the likes of the Red Rose of Gwent and her perfumed lads."

"I do not speak in jest Allister, I found him inside of a metal coffin covered with runes and technology that escapes me." Catherine said, still a little shocked from the events of the night. "It looked like something that the Parchment Knights would keep locked up in their precious Citadel, pocking and probing it until they knew all that it had to share and then locking it away."

"That does sound quite strange, I do not doubt you but perhaps it might be best to give it to the scholar knights. They would be able to give us a better idea of what we are dealing with." Allister said as pondered the conundrum, humming a bit as he thought.

"You know that they would ask too many questions Allister, say what you will of them, but they have always been a sharp bunch. They would want to take Dustriel with them and that I will not allow, he is my charge now and I will not give him up so easily." Catherine said, her famous smile promising pain if he continued his train of thought.

"Then what would you have us do?" Allister asked, "We could take the little lad in I'd suppose, we have enough room and the men would never dare question you. But what about our story?"

"Story?" Catherine asked, nodding to the old knight's train of thought. "I think it would be best that we say that he was simply left with us thanks to the touch of the Gift, the smallfolk know enough that we are the only ones that would be qualified to take care of them."

Allister hummed at the thought, "What about his name? Should we give him yours?"

"Yes, I've disgraced my father well enough and spurred him. No doubt he cause a fuss over this but I cannot bring myself to care anymore." Catherine said, shaking her head. "Say what you will but I will not have my son be named a bastard, enough if it is for his own safety, he will never be a Rivers." The protectiveness in her voice was a welcomed sound to Bryden, chuckling at her before remembering the most important issue.

"What about his name?" Allister asked, curiously "You'll have to give him one, it is your right as his guardian."

"His name is Dustriel, Dustriel Nuhera. A good and honest name, wouldn't you agree?" Catherine stated, a cheerful tone gracing her lips as she looked on as Bryden's eyes showed a hint of shock.

"Ah, that it is my girl." Bryden said, shaking his head as his thoughts turned to happier times. Memories of a smiling dark-haired youth much like the one in the Lord Bridge Knight's arms. He gestured for the bundle, opening his arms.

"Let me hold the boy, if I'm going to be helping you take care of him the least, I can ask is that you let me hold." Bryden said, his request answered in but a moment as Catherine deposited the bundle into his arms.

Bryden smiled down at the boy that would be like a grandson to him, the infant returning the smile with one of his own and giggling as he grasped ahold of the old man's finger, causing a chuckle to rise in his chest. He felt the boy's mind touch his, the innocence and joy mixed with this other worldly feel to him. This was no ordinary child, that much Bryden would stake his life on.

"Aye, you'll be a big strong knight one day, wouldn't you?" Bryden asked, smiling at the confused look on the boy' face. "Better than this old man at least, perhaps even better than Ser Iohannis himself."

"I could think of few better than you Ser Bryden," Catherine said as she smiled at the sight, happy that her mentor could still smile so sincerely even with all the hardship that he had faced in life. "But with all of our help, I'm sure that we'll raise him to be an exceptional knight."

"Ah, the spirits have blessed this one lass, I can feel it." Bryden said, nodding at her compliment. "What he chooses to do, it will send ripples throughout all of Avalon. Do you think that such a lad could be just another blacksmith or innkeeper? No, whatever plan destiny has, I know that this is what was meant to be child."

"I do not doubt it." Catherine said, smiling before gesturing for the boy back. She tucked him back her embrace, smiling as he wiggled to get comfortable, as if her arms were always meant to hold him. "Can I expect your help with training him when the time comes?"

"Of course, no matter how many years it's been you can never have too many hands helping train a young boy and forge him into a knight." Bryden said, "Let alone one who is so strong with the Power, I'd say that we have a good deal of work ahead of us. But just know that we'll all stand with you my lady, come hell or beyond."

"Thank you old friend, I'm sure that I'll come to you if I have any issues." Catherine said, bidding the old man a good night before shutting the door behind him, readying herself and her boy for bed.

Catherine looked down at her new charge, smiling as he took in his new home. For such a young child, he seemed to be taking in everything with that keen look in his eye. Already she could tell that he would grow up to be a strong and intelligent knight, hopefully he would follow his namesake's path and take up the mantle of Bridge Knight when he was old enough. Catherine patted him once on the head, chuckling at the dumbfounded look on Dustriel's face as he seemed to be brought back to the present.

"I think that you'll be just find little one, Mother is going to protect you." Catherine said, rubbing his head as he seemed to settle down a bit. He gave a cute little yawn, rubbing his golden eyes. Catherine picked him up and set him down on her bed, holding him close to her chest.

Catherine stopped herself, shocked at the word that came from her mouth. A _mother? Is that what I am? _She looked down at the child, his thoughts consumed with the image of her, feeling his joy as he thought of her and thought that there was nothing better. She had never known her mother, being raised in a household of men but she would do her best. It was the least that she could do.

Catherine settled down with the boy, deciding that or now that things would work themselves out. Tomorrow she would tell the other masters of the order, they would trust her judgement and would understand why she took Dustriel in. No doubt Bryden would be there to help her, he had more experience with younglings than she did and would be willing to help her. Dustriel would grow up to be nice and strong, a perfect heir to the title of Bridge Knight, like his namesake before him, and he would continue to uphold their honor as knights as she did. Maybe she could get him to forge a pact between one of the other knightly orders, perhaps the Parchment Knights (they could always use their knowledge of the ancient tech as well as how to build it) or maybe the Crown Guard (they were an honorable and good lot). Regardless, she would make sure that he would grow up safe and happy, ready to tackle Avalon with every bit of strength and courage he could muster. With that thought in her mind, Catherine allowed herself to fall asleep with her son, a content smile gracing her face as she thought of the future.

**So, what do you guys think? I know that it was a lot to take in so I'm going to be putting a couple of footnotes at the bottom of every chapter and if you have any questions don't hesitate to send me a PM. If you guys haven't inferred I'm a huge fan of Martin **_**A Song of Ice and Fire**_**, so there will be a little bit that I draw from his work because I find it to be a good source of knowledge on medieval practices. So, without further delay, here's my first series of footnotes that I will be giving out to you all:**

**-Avalon: Classification: Feudal World**

**From what Imperial scholars have been able to gather, Avalon is one of the more traditional Feudal Worlds that were encountered during the Great Crusade, their society following many of the same stations that parallel Terra's Dark Ages. However, from what has been gathered there was an unusual amount of psykers among the populace, this might be due to a genetic evolution within the populace or their ancestors may have been outcasts due to their inherent strangeness (much like the residents of Prospero). Most of these psykers were sent to one of the thirteen major knight orders on the planet, depending upon which of the thirteen regions they lived in. the most technological advances that the society of Avalon was able to carry was basic bolt pistols which were strangely similar to some of the earliest recorded solid projectile weapons (namely the revolver) as well as power weapons, the only ones who seemed to know how these weapons worked as well as how to forge power armor were the Parchment Knights of Keats.**

**\- Varactyl**

**The varactyl were reptilian mounts that are exclusively native to Avalon. They have been cultivated over the centuries to be the perfect mounts for Avalonian knights who raise them from the moment that they hatch, the squire being there from the moment of hatching in order to make sure that their partners imprint upon them. Each squire is expected to raise and care for their bonded partner, creating an everlasting bond that makes the pair extremely deadly. They are noted to grow on average up to 15 meters, their shoulder height reaching four meters with a variety of feathers adoring their large bodies. Their diet consists of various plants and medium sized creatures though there have been reports of a knightly order who only fed their varactyl the flesh of their fallen enemies (whether or not this is true has never been confirmed, the Primarch when asked denied it outright and took it as a slight against one of his followers). **

**-The Riverlands**

**The Riverlands, the country from which the Eleventh Primarch grew up in, was unusually a quiet and peaceful land compared to the rest of Avalon. The Lords of the Isle (the title for their king in the Riverlands) were able to safeguard their people thanks to the courageous knight order, the Shields of the River, who safeguarded the Iron River. The Riverlands appeared to have been completely surrounded by rivers who's current was so strong that no army could expect to cross them, except for the Iron River from which the Shields made their home. **

**-Shields of the River**

**The Shields of the River were well respected by both the people of the Riverlands and the other knightly orders that called Avalon their home. They were known to be some of the most skilled defenders in the land, the fact that they were able to keep out all invading armies (whose numbers could rise to a 50,000 knights and countless peasantry at one particular point) and still continue standing solidified themselves as one of the most deadly orders on the planet. They are sworn to keep the people of the Riverlands safe, vowing to protect the Iron River with their lives no matter the cost. They are known to have trained some of the most prestigious knights during the War of Knights, most notably (besides the Primarch of course) were 'Old Snapping Turtle' Bryden, Catherine of the Serene Smile and Ser Alanas Amberton the Loyal.**

**Sigil: An obsidian tortoise with the background of the Iron River**

**Motto: Brotherhood, Bravery, Honesty**

**Now, onto answering comments (remember, if you want to be featured all you have to do is leave a comment and I will respond at the end of every chapter):**

**ATP: Well, that would be telling, but they will have a role to play in regard to Dustriel's life.**

**Dawnlight09: Thank you, I really appreciate that. I am a little new to writing so it warms my heart to know that people are enjoying it.**

**See you all next time! Have a good day and thank you for listening to me ramble on.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey guys, how's it going? I'm coming at you with another chapter from Dustriel's tales, I know that I only laid the groundwork last time, but we are on a nonstop train ride, filled with twists and turns all throughout. Now, if you all have any questions remember to put it in a review or PM if you want, I will answer them at the end of the chapter. Like and favorite if you want to be kept updated!**

**I would like to thank my buddy Mojo for being a constant help, if it wasn't for him this story wouldn't exist so if you have time, I suggest looking at some of his work. But for now, on with the show!**

Chapter 4: Life on the Bridge

Catherine POV:

If she was being honest, it went a lot more smoothly than she thought it would have. While there was some skepticism and notions of what should be done with the boy, they all agreed that he would have a proper place here. A child with as much potential as Dustriel could not be allowed to simply be given to some peasant family, he would have to be a knight. There was no other path in life that would allow him to safely live, his potential with the Power was simply too great (some claiming that there have been no greater wielders since the days of Ser Iohannis) so he would learn and grow among the warriors of the Riverlands.

It was agreed that he would stay with Catherine, most of the masters were not willing to begrudge her claim to the 'star child' and they knew how much the boy had meant to her, how attached she had grown. But there were always those that didn't wish to fall in line.

* * *

"_And I say that you have no right to the child, he should be given to the Ambertonhall and be gone with it!" The master yelled, glaring across the table at his Bridge Knight. Her eyes stabbed right back at him, holding the bundle in her arms tighter to her chest. "It is clear to all of us that this child is meant for greatness, he must surely be from a noble lineage and thus should be placed back with one! Not surrounded by low born curs and runaway girls who want to play at knighthood!"  
The old man was Ser Anselm Oakheart, was of the old blood who had been a master when Catherine was still a girl. He had often sneered and provoked Ser Bryden for having taken her in, stating that knighthood was for the noble men of their country and not pretty damsels in distress. When Dustriel gave his life to defend the Iron River, he was the only one who put his name forth besides her when it came to elect a new grandmaster. He was distraught with fury when none of the other masters picked him, all agreed that they would follow along with their lord's last wish._

"_Careful how you talk to me Ser Anselm." Catherine said, sneering back at the old man. "This is my decision to make, you have no claim to my child, and I will not sit here as you spit upon the ideals of our forefathers. Brotherhood, Bravery, Honesty. Do you remember them? Our words Ser Anselm?"_

_Anselm snorted at her retort, "Of course I remember them girl, I was given my knighthood well before you were ever born."  
Catherine smiled, to the untrained eye it was a beautiful and innocent gesture. But to the men around the room, all twelve masters of their order, backed away from her as her smile seemed to promise death to those that stood in her way. Truly, the gift of newfound motherhood had turned their Bridge Knight into an even deadlier monster than before._

"_Then you would know that everyone here is our family." Catherine said, bouncing Dustriel a bit in order to calm him. "It does not matter from where their line comes from, the nobility in their manner and the honor in their blades marks them above them those of the most noble blood in my eyes. If I had to choose between the best noble fencer or the weakest knight in our order, I would always pick the knight because he knows what it means to act honorably. Do you Ser Anselm?" _

_She knew that he could feel the atmosphere of the room, the hostility clear in the air and her own mixing in was not going to do the child any favors, the push she felt in her mind calming as he fell back asleep._

_Ser Anselm gritted his teeth, glaring at his grand master, resigning himself to her decision. He then looked down at the bundle, eyes dark with greed. "But he should not be your squire when he grows, as the Bridge Knight you cannot show favoritism to any of our men."_

"_And he shall not, I will be giving him to_ _Ser Bryden for training. I think that we are all in agreement that only one of our best can be trusted with such a task." Catherine said as she nodded in response, looking over at Ser Bryden as she answered. He nodded back, looking at peace now that the harshest criticism was over. _

_The other masters seemed to agree, giving a nod to her command or whispers of agreement. The name 'Old Snapping Turtle' Bryden was known throughout the land, easily one of their most well-respected members. He had trained the last two grand masters of their order, perhaps this might be the third?_

"_Are there any more arguments?" Catherine asked, looking over the table. The other masters simply shook their heads, Ser Anselm's glare not leaving his face as he declined as well._

"_Then that will be that my good Sers, it's back to our duties." Catherine said, getting back to the meeting, answering any concerns that the order needed to have done._

* * *

The men had taken well to Dustriel in the time since, as she knew well that they would.

Over the last several months the boy had seemed to take the role of little brother to her men, running about the grounds of the keep and following a fair few of the older Knights and squires in the pursuit of their duties. If anything, he seemed to act as the light that some of them needed. To remember what it was that they were fighting for and for his part Dustriel soaked up the attention like a sponge.

At one year he was already proving the equal of any fresh-faced squire in size and build, aiding wherever he could and learning all there was to learn from those around him. Whether it be helping the smiths about their forges in the creation of new powered weapons, watching and often emulating the squires as they went about their daily trials in the yard.

Then of course chief of all his simple earnest observation of Bryden's methods. The boy's eyes focused and unwavering on the sidelines as the old Knight guided the newer lads in the ways of the blade from cut and thrust to parry and simplistic riposte to manners of bearing and demeanor. Techniques and skills that would form a foundation that the boys themselves would be suspected to build upon in the coming years as Knights of River. Maintained and strengthened through repetition and careful practice to whittle away those tiniest imperfections.

Such foundations that Dustriel was well in the process of laying, or so Catherine had been told by some of the Knights she'd discretely seconded to keep the boy from trouble. Those examples of her child's prowess only cementing that notion further in her mind.

If anything, the rate and pace in which he was absorbing information alone was nothing short of miraculous, and if she were honest with herself more than a little alarming.

An elementary understanding of simple metallurgy and leather craft to match an apprentice of months gleaned in a matter of hours. His learning restrained only because the smiths were wary of the Bridge Knight's foundling hurting himself in his pursuits.

Squire's Code, a series of subtler signs and signals via pennants affixed to polearm utilized by Knights when hunting astride their mounts in the thick of battle or in the midst of a hunt and communication via shouted word was unreliable. Its basic nuances seemingly gleaned in an afternoon spent simply observing the drills of veteran knights, not in any lesson, simply watching from afar as he so often did.

And then Bryden's lessons, Dustriel by all accounts already as silent and discerning of the forms as a squire in his later years. His motions rendered near flawless in minutes where another boy might take weeks.

Such things had been noticed, of course. Some bearing looks of awe, others notes of fear. Both had cause, as much as it pained Catherine, the Bridge Knight.

Catherine, the Mother, however, could feel only one emotion, pride. Tempered as it was by care for her son, and a solemn oath to make certain that if he must learn swiftly, he would at the very least learn correctly.

As a Knight must...

* * *

(Dustriel POV)

Dustriel blocked a blow with the side of his shield, looking at his partner swing with all his might before side stepping the next blow. As his opponent put all of his strength into his attack, he soon found himself unable the dodge the swipe from Dustriel's practice sword, the force knocking him to the ground. He looked up to see said sword pointed directly at his throat, his opponent's golden eyes daring him to continue fighting.

"I yield, I yield!" The boy cried out, dropping his blunt sword in his surrender. Dustriel offered him a hand which he gladly took, pulling him to his feet with little effort.

"That was a good blow friend but remember not to put too much force into your blows." Dustriel said, taking off his training helmet and wiping his brow. "If you had not then you might have won this bout."

"I almost had you there Dustriel." The squire said, taking in deep breathes as he looked out at the crowd that had grown since their match began. He remembered being a part of it, watching some poor new squire try to defeat Dustriel and failing at it over and over. Ser Bryden had told them that if they could get a clear defeat on Dustriel that he would put in a good word with some of the more experienced knights, securing them an apprenticeship with them. "You're just too damn good, it's impossible to beat you."

"Never say that something is impossible." Dustriel said, giving the squire a playful shove as they walked forward to put their equipment back. He ignored the whispers of congratulations as he passed them, used to the attention and the words of praise. He tried to ignore them but he could not deny that they made him feel good about the bout. "You just have to keep trying, I've seen that you've improved in or bouts together. A little faster here or a little more restraint, you're learning and that's what is important. Any knight that gets you as a squire is sure to be pleased."

The squire snorted at the comment, "Easy for you to say, you get to learn personally from the Snapping Turtle."

"It's not as glamourous as you might think." Dustriel said, his gear now tucked away leaving him in his basic tunic and pants. Were it not for his striking figure then you would not have picked him out of the crowd, dressed and acting as an ordinary knight. "I have to work just as hard as you lot, if not more so. The Old Man likes to push me a whole lot more than he does you."

The squire hummed at that, though Dustriel could feel in his mind that he did not believe him. "If you say so, well I take it that you'll be out tomorrow? Same time, right?"

"Of course, I'm off to help the smiths out today and Ser Bryden wants me to fix and polish his armor. But I will be sure to make time for you tomorrow." Dustriel said as he smiled at the expression of joy on the squire's face. The boy seemed eager to learn and get better, trying to put his limits the best that he could. Even after such a defeat, how could he refuse such an easy request seeing how much it meant to the boy?

The two parted ways, the squire going back to the crowd and eagerly talking to his peers, sharing the knowledge that the Snapping Turtle's protégé would be willing to spar with them tomorrow. Saying how he had obviously gained his skill as well as his eager personality from his uncle, how he'll be even greater.

He hated that.

He hated having to be compared to men who had had decades of experiences while he had but one. How he was supposed to live up to their examples, how it was expected of him to be the next big name to come out of the Shields of the River and become renowned throughout all of Avalon. Why would that push all of that onto his shoulders? Oh he would of course, but it would be upon his merits and skills, not those of any other man's. He was a man of the River, and Avalon would one day know his name from the hills of Saltum to the Aeratus Desert.

But Dustriel could not stop and think about how he seemed so different from the other squires, they were good lads and the seeds of chivalry were growing in them. But they were not as skilled as he was, they did not have the sheer potential that he had been born with and they were free from the expectations of the order. He knew that they would switch places with him if they had the choice but did not know the cons as well as he did. But that was his lot in life, knighthood was all that he had ever dreamed of and he would prove his family proud. His mother especially, he wanted to see that smile of hers; the one that didn't promise pain and retribution.

Dustriel continued his daily walk to the forge, smiling and greeting everyone that he came across. From the older knights who would smile and wave back at him, the newer recruits who looked at him in awe as well as the smallfolk who bowed to him and called him young lord. He nodded to them all, wishing them a good day and offering his assistance if they needed it. Their thoughts clear to him as they gushed in their minds about how helpful he was.

Dustriel walked until he could feel the heat of the forge, the mechanical savants who worked there more used to the heat, but he would not be deterred.

He walked up to the door, knocking on it for a good minute until one of the smiths decided to open up the latch, looking down to see him and smiled.

"Aye, is that you lad?" The old smith said, his smiling showing a few missing teeth but the merriment in his eyes not deterred by that. "Here to make some more wonders for us old timers?"

"I think that I'll stick to just making a shield today Walt." Dustriel said, returning the smile. Old Walt had been here for far longer than he had been alive, Mother saying that he had been a smith back in her days squiring under Ser Bryden. That meant that he must be quite old indeed.  
Walt waved him in, the smoke of the forge making it hard to see but Dustriel had been coming to the forge since he could walk so, he had no problem making his way around. There were dozens of blacksmiths applying their trade in the forge, working on either repairing some of the older power armor suits or forging shields. From what Dustriel had heard they were supposed to be sending out a new shipment of shields over to the Silver Legion real soon, part of their yearly trade agreement.

The hot air making sweat pour down his brow, the feeling of his clothes sticking to his body, the sound of hammering hitting hot steel as they were forged into armaments for the knights. There was something to be said of the forges, something that just made it fill some hole that he didn't know was there before he set foot in here.

Walt walked him to his workstation, weaving and waving through several of his fellow smiths but did not seem to slow down at all. All those years of working there had conditioned him to walking through the crowd without disturbing it, not halted by its presence but becoming one with it.

"Well, I guess that we'll have to settle for that then. We need these shields out of here as soon as possible, makes a good impression if a craftsman can get his supply done before his due date." Walt said, waving at one smith who looked up at him. He pulled off a set of welding goggles, waving back at Walt before sliding them back on and getting back to the plasteel on his table.

Yes, the forge had a good atmosphere about it.

Walt led Dustriel down and around the main area, knowing that the lad liked to have his privacy when it came to his work. They continued on their way, the two having walked the same path before several times that there was no need for idle chit chat, their company all that the one appreciated.

When they reached their destination, one's first thought was that there was no way that anything of importance would be conducted here. The table seemed a chaotic battlefield of a mess, bits of scrap metal lying here and there, electronic panels stacked in a haphazard pile and the project covered in an oily old sheet. The old good thing to be said about the workstation was that the tools were well maintained, free the muck that seemed to be have stained the table.

"I'll leave you to it lad, yell for me if you need anything." Walt said, slapping Dustriel on the shoulder before heading off back to the commotion up front. He knew that the boy liked his silence, the only way that he could work his magic was if he was by himself. Walt had known many smiths liked that, who needed to block out the outside world in order to perfect their art into masterpieces, the boy was the same way.

Dustriel nodded at the old man, setting down as he began to get to work. He picked up his screwdriver and a select few bits out of the pile, his mind the only thing that could make sense of the organized mess in front of him.

He pulled the sheet back, happy to see that nobody had messed with his work since he was gone. He knew that some of the smiths could get a little excited when they saw some of the things that he could do, his first shield was such a work of art that he had given it away to one of the newer knights that had pushed his to near the breaking point. He had to break the thing down and reforge it anew, knowing that one of the smiths would have had the poor man's hide if he had come to any of them with it. Dustriel had just smiled at him and told him to be careful in the future.

But what laid on the table was no mere side project, this was something that would be his to use one day, his alone and whoever he chose to gift it to. The shield that laid on the table was nothing less than a masterpiece, something that Dustriel had labored over for weeks, bending the metal to his will and coaxing it to take the form that it did. He had tried to work on it as much as he could, any spare time he had he spent in the forge.

It was a tower shield to an average knight, covering the length of his short stature and requiring the strength of power armor to properly lift it. It had the image of a proud hippogriff soaring across the sky, the rough layout of the bottom half made to look like the mountain ranges of Saltum, the home of the Siler Legion. It was as well as a map as a shield, the layout of the shield showed the main roads and settlements of the country but what truly stood out was the hold that the Silver Legion called home.

The citadel Fallen Star was a place of discipline and technique, surrounded by the great mountains of Saltum, the citadel forged young boys into true knights of the land. Dustriel made sure to pay homage to their ancient allies with the work he had put forth on this. Perhaps Mother would allow him to go to Fallen Star someday, see the Silver Legionnaires in all their glory and meet the Oathkeeper himself. But that was a worry for another day, he had to finish up the modifications before his masterpiece could be called finished.

Dustriel took his screwdriver and pulled away the generator from the shield, looking it over as he tinkered with it. It had taken some time, but he had been able to find a way to enhance the strength of the power field around the shield through some trial and error. When he first started it just seemed so simple, as if he had been doing this for decades and it all simply clicked inside of his head. He knew what needed to be done, though it would take some time before he deemed it satisfactory.

Dustriel sat at his table for what felt like hours though in reality it must have been only one. He had ripped the generator out and completely reworked the machinery, almost tripling the output of the shield. He had beat the generator into place, firmly securing it back into the proper place and then continuing work on the shield itself.

He had polished up a bit of the artwork, making sure that it fit the image that he had seen of the master work maps in his Mother's office. He knew that if he was to mess up that everyone would surely see it, that they would look upon his work and see it as something not worth the effort, that he should give up on it. He would not allow that to happen.

Dustriel picked up the tower shield, holding the giant slab of plasteel with both hands in order to get a good grip on it. He walked well away from his work desk, knowing that if something were to go wrong that he wouldn't want to destroy the one place where he could easily fix it. He cleared off a bit of room, moving dusty old tables and chairs out of the way, making sure that it everything would be perfect for this moment.

Dustriel took a deep breath, a bit nervous as he clicked the power rune on the shield. He watched as the plasteel seemed to come to life as blue electricity seemed to spark off of the edges, while he had seen power shields do this before it was never to this level. It was like comparing a small torch to a great bonfire, while they both shed light it did not do the bonfire justice to say that was all that they did. Every road and village on the face of the shield seemed to glow with ethereal light, the hippogriff look about to jump off of the surface and spring to life. Dustriel would not be shocked if it did. To Dustriel, this was the most beautiful thing that he had ever seen.

The boy yelled out in joy, happy for his success, wanting to share it with someone who could appreciate it. He ran out of the abandoned workshop, heading straight for the main forges for Walt, knowing that he would want to see what he had created, knowing it could only do good sharing how he did this with the others.

Dustriel weaved throughout the building, straight through the central workplace, following the feel of Walt's mind until he found the old man. He was busy hammering away at a new steel bar, ready to forge it, until he looked up to see Dustriel who he gave a smile to.

"Oh, lad, you seem to be quite energetic today." Walt said, putting down his forging hammer, looking down at Dustriel's latest project. "Did ya finally get it done?"

"I did!" Dustriel exclaimed, the excitement easily seen to everyone in the room. "I did it Walt! I perfected it!"

"Oh, did ya?" Walt asked, looking down at the shield the boy was holding with pride, his giddiness infecting him as his smile grew larger. "Well now, don't hold me in suspense. Fire her up."

Dustriel nodded at the request, the azure light spring life back into the shield. It was enough to make the old smith drop his hammer, shock in his eyes.

"W-What?" Walt stuttered out, hands reaching for the shield. "That's impossible, how did ya do that lad? This thing could probably take a bolt round and the wielder wouldn't feel a thing!"

Dustriel blushed at the compliment, not used to such praise from the older smith. "Well, I was just tinkering with the power supply, I noticed that there were a few places that could use so improvement."

"What do you mean?" Walt asked, turning the shield around in his hands as he examined the work with a keen eye. "We've always used the same design, if there were flaws then we would have noticed them. You must have done something else."  
"No Walt, I just adjust the design a bit." Dustriel replied, shaking his head, "I can even show you if you want."

Walt nodded at that, watching as the boy took the generator out of the shield and dismantled it. The boy went through what he did step by step, showing how each area of the generator had been altered slightly to increase the overall strength of the barrier. He answered every question and inquiry, making sure that Walt understood everything that he did in order to better his knowledge, always happy to help in any way that he could.

"That was some good thinking lad, you know that you could easily be the head smith one day when I'm dead and gone if you really focused on your work. What do you say? Interested?" Walt said as he smiled down at Dustriel, ruffling his hair a bit as the boy fought to stop him.

"No Walt." Dustriel said, trying to fix his hair back from the rough treatment it just underwent. "I may be good, but I would never want to smith all the time. Mother said that it's important for a knight to have something outside of combat. 'A knight should have a trade, you shouldn't always think of waging war', at least that's what she said."

Walt nodded at the sage advice, apparently agreeing wholeheartedly. "Aye, that's good advice to live by. Well, always know that your table will always be here for you. I'm off to share this with the others, hopefully I'll be able to get the others to use this new design to get better goods from the Legion. Heck maybe you can look them over and show us how to make better guns than they do, that'd show'em."

* * *

Dustriel nodded at the suggestion, waving goodbye to the smith as he left the workshop. It was a good hobby to have, but he would never want to give up his knighthood for it. It was all he had ever wanted.

Dustriel picked up the rag again, waxing circles over the pauldron as he looked it over again, making sure that it was up to Ser Bryden's expectations. For all the talk of how great it was to be Bryden's squire, he still had to do all the grunt work that was required of his station.

Clean his gear, fix his meals, take care of his steed, keep him updated on his meetings and obligations. There was nothing glamourous about that, but he would keep his mouth shut and not complain. Mother had made it clear that once he started on this path that there would be no favoritism for him, the only fair thing was to treat him as any squire should be.

Dustriel put down the pauldron, it couldn't be any cleaner even if he poured boiling water on it. If it was clear enough to make out his features, then it was clean enough. He picked up the sword next, walking over to the grindstone and getting to work on making it sharper.

All around him he could see his fellow squires going about their business, some new recruits getting shown the ropes on what to do while tradesmen met about their way as they talked and exchanged news with one another. It seemed just another normal day in the commons, everything was the way that it should be.

It seemed just another day on the River, Dustriel thought, smiling as he looked out at the scene. The gates open to travelers near and far, bringing with them their goods and tales of their journey. Farmers, merchants, brother knights, it seemed to be a crowd of a thousand paths of life.

Dustriel watched as one of the newcomers looked out at the great bridge with awe in his eyes, a pack on his back and the blade on his belt made him seem like a knight errant if not for his young age. The lad must have not even reached his thirteenth year, the innocence of youth shining in his silver eyes made him stand apart from the rest as he looked over to Dustriel's workplace. The boy waved at him as the lad made his way over.

"What can I do for you friend?" Dustriel asked, putting down his rag as he wiped his hand on his worn tunic. He wouldn't blame someone if they mistook him for a peasant, he seemed to look the part. "I can tell that you aren't from around these parts."

The traveler graced him with a smile, his face lighting up as he took a seat next to Dustriel. "That I am not, I was travelling here with my group, but I couldn't resist the urge to explore a bit farther than I should have. Tis a beautiful sight." The boy said, looking out at the waters below.

"That it is." Dustriel said, nodding at the compliment to his home. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"That would be because I didn't give it." The boy said, grinning at the comment, "My name is Jibril, can I have your name friend?"  
"Of course." Dustriel said, giving a bow as he introduced himself. "My name is Dustriel, it is a pleasure to meet you Jibril."  
Jibril gave a laugh, "Now that is a proper greeting." His face took on a questioning look after he took in his name, though Dustriel could feel his confusion without looking at him. "You said that your name is Dustriel? As in THE Dustriel Nuhera? Of the Keen Edge?"

"Nay, he is but my namesake." Dustriel said, waving off the thought "My Mother named me for him, saying that it might bring me luck in my journey as a knight."  
"Oh, you're a knight?" Jibril asked, smile back in place, "I didn't know that the Shields would knight one so young."  
"Nay, I am just a squire for now." Dustriel said, liking the questions that the fellow boy asked. That autonomy, not recognizing him that put him at ease. "My Mother was able to convince Ser Bryden to take me on as a squire."

"Wow, that's amazing!" Jibril said, "I heard that he's one of the best that you Shields have! Is it true that he could fight off a dozen men with but his shield? My Father once told me that he saw him do so!"

"Perhaps, I wouldn't doubt that he could still do it even in his old age." Dustriel said, nodding at the rumor. "By the way, why are you here? Are you a traveling troupe or something? Been a while since we've had one of those.'  
"Do I look like a performer to you?" Jibril asked, gesturing to his attire. From his leather vest to the elegant blade on his belt, to the noble features and long black hair. No, he looked more like a noble than a member of a troupe.

"No, sorry I did not mean to offend you milord." Dustriel said, picking up his rag again. "If you could excuse me, I have work to do. A squire's duty is never done."  
"Come on~." Jibril said, throwing his arm around the boy's shoulder. "I'm not some pompous little lord that needs coddling. Tell you what, I need someone to show me around until my party gets here, it'll be some time so would you mind showing me around? It'll be fun!"

Dustriel raised his eyes at Jibril, "How will it be fun? Besides, there's work to be done. That must come before anything else."

But Jibril would not hear any of it, as he pulled Dustriel from his workplace, the eagerness in his demeanor enough to get Dustriel to go along with him. Dustriel couldn't put his finger on it, but he knew that there was something about this boy that reminded him of something. But he just shrugged his shoulders and went along with it, seeing in harm in leaving his duties for a bit.

As Jibril pulled Dustriel to see the many sites that the Iron River had to show, he made sure that his companion was having a good time as well. He could tell from the happiness in his eyes that the squire had great pride in the keep that was his home. He went into great length to describe everything that Jibril pointed out, sparing no expense in educating his new friend in whatever caught his fancy.

The two went from one side of the bridge all the way to the other, not stopping in their quest to explore. The various knights that they passed wave at their merriment, happy to see that their little brother was having fun. It was all too common of a sight to see the boy working hard on whatever project he was currently on; it was good to see him unwind a bit every now and then.

"So, what was your favorite part of our tour so far Jibril?" Dustriel asked, smiling over at his companion.

"The armory of course." Jibril said, as if there was no question to what he would pick. "So many weapons and old suits of armor. How can someone not be fascinated with them?"

Dustriel chuckled at the fascinated look in his new friend's eyes. "You are a bit of a weapon expert I take it? Do you by chance know anything of smiting?"

"Not as much as I should." Jibril said, saddened by the fact. "But I do know a bit about gunsmithing, come with growing up at Fallen Star."

"You grew up at Fallen Star?" Dustriel asked, intrigued by this new fact. "I always wanted to go to Fallen Star, they say that the Silver Legion are some of the best when it comes to making guns."  
"Aye, that's true." Jibril said, nodding at the statement. "But I hear that you Shields are the best when it comes to making shields. I even heard a rumor that the new batch you lot have is some of the finest Avalon has seen in quite a while."

Dustriel beamed at the indirect praise, a blush coming across his cheeks as they continued towards their destination. "Well, I heard that it was just a fluke. Nothing too out of the ordinary I assure you."

"You are too modest Dust." Jibril said, patting his friend on the shoulder. "Take some credit where it's due."

"Dust?" Dustriel asked, confused at why Jibril would give him a nickname. To be honest, it made him a little mad, he took great pride in his name and wouldn't let anyone tarnish it.

"Yeah. Dustriel's a bit of a mouthful so I just shortened it to Dust, what do you think?" Jibril asked, looking pleased with himself at his naming sense.

"I would say that there is no need for such a nickname." Dustriel said, looking taken back. "The only other name I will ever want is the nickname that my fellow knights will give me. Who knows, I might even get something grand like Dustriel the Indomitable."

"Shooting for the stars, aren't you?" Jibril asked, teasing the squire a bit as he playfully bumped his elbow into the squire's shoulder. "Don't let such trivial things bring you down. Tell you what, if you ever come to Fallen Star, I'll show you around as payback. How does that sound?"  
"That sounds grand!" Dustriel exclaimed, excitement in his eyes. "I've always wanted to go but Mother would never let me. She says that it's not safe for a squire, that I would have to wait to become a knight errant. Like you Jibril."  
"Me?" Jibril asked, confused. "I'm not a knight errant, what made you think that?"  
"But, if you're not a knight errant then what are you doing dressed like that?" Dustriel asked, gesturing to the boy's rough outfit. "Surely your master would not allow you to dress like that."

"The old man has tried time and again to make me change my outfit." Jibril said, waving off Dustriel's comment. "But I've always managed to get him to see things my way. Now, would you tell me where we're going? We've been walking forever!"  
"It's a secret." Dustriel said, laughing at the pouting face that Jibril was making at him. "But I'm sure that you have one of these at Fallen Star, if that's any clue."

The two boys had been walking upon the beaten path for quite some time, walking away from the dark stone keep that was the Iron River. They travelled throughout the forest that spanned the length of the shore, taking in all the beauty that the land had to offer. Dustriel liked to walk these paths often, liking the quiet peace that accompanied the journey. But he found that he liked the presence of Jibril even more during his walk.

The two continued on, their silence comfortable rather than awkward. Appreciating the other's company as they explored the area. They walked until they reached the end of the shore, the bank giving a clear look at the Iron River. From here all one could see on the ancient bridge was small dots which must have people and the beauty of the harsh river that surrounded the country. It was a sight that could not be fully put into words, from the light reflecting off of the water to the numerous beasts that one could see grazing in the area. It was the most beautiful view one could have, in Dustriel's opinion.

"Wow, it's so beautiful." Jibril said, taking a seat under the shade of a tree as he looked out. "I've never seen anything like it."  
"It's something to be sure." Dustriel said, nodding in agreement as he sat down beside Jibril. "But I'm sure that you have such a sight back at home. All those mountains and valleys, I must say that I am a bit envious of you."

"True." Jibril agreed, "But this has its own charm. My Father always told me that the Iron River is the one place that he felt at home besides Fallen Star. 'Not just the people there, but the land itself has a charm to it' he used to tell me, I've always wanted to come here and see what he meant."

Jibril smiled as he looked out at the water, turning to smile at the new friend that he had met. He understood what his father had meant in that moment, truly the men of the Riverlands were a good bunch.

Dustriel smiled back at him, happy to have taken the boy up on this offer. He might have been popular among the knights, but to say that he had no friends would be no exaggeration. He had brothers and the squires looked up to him for his skill, but they did not take the time to truly know him. Looking at this odd boy from the Legion, he felt that he might be the closest thing to a friend he had in a long time. He felt happy about that.

The two sat there for some time, for how long no one can really know, the two sat and conversed about trivial matters. Who they knew, what news spread to their keeps from the royal courts, old stories that their parents had told them growing up. All not truly mattering in the end, but the two enjoyed it and they were happy to have someone to share that joy with. The two talked until they noticed the commotion coming towards the Iron River, the silvery banner of the hippogriff leaving no guesses for who had arrived.

"Well, that will be your party I take it." Dustriel said, a little saddened by the fact. It was fun while it lasted but it seemed that his companion would have to be on his way. "Let's go see them, I'm sure that your master must be worried for your sake."

"I doubt it, I would be shocked if he noticed that I was even gone." Jibril said, waving off Dustriel's concern.

"Truly?" Dustriel asked, a little shocked at the notion. They had explored the ancient keep and their journey to the bank was easily more than a mere few hours. The thought that his master would not notice his squire in that timeframe shocked Dustriel a bit. If it had been Ser Bryden or his mother, then they would have noticed almost immediately.

The thought sent a shiver down Dustriel's back, he had been gone for a good bit. Without finishing all of his work. '_Mother will not be pleased_' Dustriel thought.

"Well, I'm sure that it is not what you think." Dustriel said, patting the boy on his shoulder. "I'm sure that he is tearing his hair out looking for you as we speak."

Jibril snorted at the thought, "Unlikely, but least us be on with it. I'm sure that I can introduce you to a few of the legionnaires. Show you what a true knight of Avalon looks like."  
"We'll see about that Jibril, as I'm sure that you're aware we Shields do not take our honor being questioned. We are an honest lot after all." Dustriel said, smiling as the two headed off, back down the trail and back to the Iron River.

* * *

Dustriel had seen a lot growing up with the Shields, they were a rough bunch and strong as a wild varactyl. He had seen hem do all matter of things, the list of delegates they had thrown out for slighting his Mother's after she rejected them was not an unusual sight to him. He had seen much but seeing the Silver Legion in all their glory made him gasp a bit.

The silver clad knights of Saltum walked in perfect unison, perfect alignment in their ranks as they advanced ever further. The wielded their shield at their sides and their power spears on their backs, most having a bolt pistol on their waist. Upon their pauldrons they bore two sigils, the hippogriff on the right to mark their allegiance to the Legion and on the left the sigil of their cohorts. Dustriel could see from the three formations that three of their cohorts were being represented here, however he was not familiar with each of them as he should though he could see the running goat, the noble varactyl and a man-at-arms wielding a bloodied broadsword.

They were split into their three cohorts, each giving the proper and exact space between each other in order to tell them from the others. The riders that travelled with the cohorts were there led from the front with their heads held high, their varactyl orderly and more civil than he was used to. They must have bred them that way, or the teachings of the Legion were so great that he seeped into their bonded partners.

Dustriel loved the sight. This was what it meant to be a knight, to be the proud warrior that defended the people and smited the wicked. He had heard tales of their exploits, demanding one of their stories more often than not when he grew curious of the other orders. His golden eyes seemed to sparkle as he looked up to them, pointing out his observations to his companion.

"Oh, look at that one Jibril!" Dustriel exclaimed, pointing out to the calvary squadrons. The coats of their varactyl all a shade of silver or gray though Dustriel saw a few with light blue crowns of feathers. He pointed to the most impressive one he could see, it's pure silver hide mashed well with the curious light blue eyes of the large reptilian beast. "Look at how beautiful it is! No wonder you named yourselves the Silver Legion if you ride varactyl of that color."

"This is nothing Dust." Jibril said, shrugging at the sight. He grew up with the Legion, he had probably seen this a thousand times before. "You should see when we amass all of the men, that is a sight to see. I must say that I prefer the way you Shields handle things. You are organized, but you don't allow that to strip you of your individuality. Our brotherhood is strong, but we lack when it comes to fighting by ourselves."

The two watched as the company continued on its way across the River, a crowd gathered the moment that they were in sight and cheered at the sight of their allies. The legionnaires bore their cheers in silence, continuing on in their formation though a few of the officers waved to the crowd from time to time. The people seemed to like it as they cheered louder, watching as they continued on their way. At the end of the bridge they could see the host of knights from the Shields, smiling at the sight of their brothers in arms though one individual's smile was brighter than the rests.

Dustriel could see Catherine all the way from his spot, he moved closer to their position, pulling Jibril along with him as he did. He could see how she was smiling at the Legion, a familiarity that he was used to showing itself as she stood to greet them. Though to say that the smile was directed at the company as a whole would be misleading, he could see that it was directed at the leader of the company and there could be no one else he could thing of who that could be.

From the winged helmet that the commander wore, to the silver blade at his belt, to the battered old shield that he had strapped to his arm. This was Lord Commander Jeremiah, his namesake's sworn brother. Dustriel watched as the man waved to the crowd, even with his helmet on he could just imagine the small smile that he gave them. He could feel the happiness radiating from him, from he had heard Ser Jeremiah had been fostered here so it was no shock that he would be happy to see it. But the level of his love for the old keep was much stronger than Dustriel gave him credit for, he knew that this man would willing die for a place that was no longer his home and be happy for it. This confused him but Dustriel brushed it off, knowing that in time he would know.

"Halt, who goes there?" Catherine cried out, slamming the pommel of her glaive into the ground as she recited the ancient greeting to all those who would cross the Iron River. "Who dares approach the Iron Bridge? What is your name and what is your purpose?"

"It is I, Ser Jeremiah the Oathkeeper." The Lord Commander stated, pulling off his helmet and tucking it in the crock of his arm as he bowed to his fellow grandmaster. "I come here fulfilling our agreement Ser Catherine. We have a shipment of guns here for you, I am to presume you have our shields?"

"Correct Lord Commander. You may proceed." Catherine stated, nodding to the guards. They nodded back, pulling the mechanism to life the old gate which creeked as it was pulled up. "May the rivers guard you my friend."

"You as well Ser Catherine." Jeremiah said, smiling as he looked about the place. "We are grateful for your hospitality; it has been too long since I was last here."

Catherine smiled back, looking upon the legionnaires as if she were seeking something. "I am happy to see you old friend, but I must admit that I am a little shocked. I thought that you said that you would be bringing your son with you. Where is he?"  
"That is an excellent question Catherine." Jeremiah said, looking back at the three cohorts. "My son Jibril has a pension for running off and exploring, I fear that in his excitement that he rushed off ahead of the group. I'll have to remedy that when I get my hands on him."

"Do you need help?" Catherine said, worrying seeping into her features. She knew that she would be tearing her hair out if she had lost Dustriel, luckily the lad had enough sense never to try and give her a heart attack by running off. Spirits help him if he tried.

"I thank you but no Ser Catherine." Jeremiah said, waving off her concern. "I have a sure-fire way to find him." He looked out at the crowd, took a deep breath then shouted at the top of his lungs.

"JIBRIL! I SWEAR BOY IF YOU DO NOT SHOW YOURSELF THIS INSTANT THEN I WILL FLOG YOU NAKED IN FRONT OF THE ENTIRE LEGION!" Jeremiah screamed, fury overtaking his face as he glared out at the crowd. His silver eyes scanning each individual before quickly looking to the next.

Dustriel looked over to his companion who looked as composed as ever, as if the threat meant nothing to him. "You didn't say that your Father was the Lord Commander of the Silver Legion." He whispered accusingly.

"You never asked." Jibril said, shrugging his shoulders. "You would have worried otherwise, tried to treat me differently and I would have hated that. Besides, you looked like you needed a friend too. Isn't that right, Dustriel Nuhera? Son of Catherine of the Serene Smile, the Lord Bridge Knight. Don't tell that others don't treat you differently because of your mother. If you did I'd say that you broke your tenant as a knight of the Shields."

"I'm not a knight yet, but I do understand you." Dustriel said, thinking of how everyone would go out of their way to try and see to hie every need. It annoyed him, no one saw him as just Dustriel, another squire working towards his knighthood. They saw Dustriel Nuhera, son of an already world-famous knight.

"Shouldn't you get out there before he gets even more angry?" Dustriel asked, feeling the waves of fury beaming off of the Oathkeeper, their flames getting hotter ever second.

"When he settles down, if he settles down." Jibril said nonchalantly, not at all caring it seemed to his predicament.

"Well, I always heard that it was better to get something over with than it is to simply wait." Dustriel said, grabbing Jibril by the shoulder and forcing his way out of the crowd. He pushed through, the people in front making way as they saw the lad he was pulling along and put two and two together.

"What are yo-?" Jibril asked, fighting Dustriel as he tried to get out of his grip. Though it was in vain as Dustriel pushed him out into the open. He stumbled a bit but kept his balance, glaring back at the squire before stopping to notice the pitch silence that surrounded him.

Every eye was on him. Every villager, tradesmen and knight's sight was focused on him. If he had a weaker will than he surely would have squirmed, but he would not be seen as weak or cowardly. The legionnaires expressions were the worst, their features hidden by helms so Jibril could only guess at what their faces said. But the expression that he most feared was his father's, his eyes two silver blades which pierced with their sharpness. He was used to them by now but they still could inspire fear in him, his face so contorted in rage that he could see the vein in his neck about to erupt.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself boy?" Jeremiah said, though it was so soft that Jibril could hardly make it out. That just made it all the more frightening.

"I do have a question old man." Jibril said, grinning up at his father. "When 's it going to erupt?"  
"What?" Jeremiah asked, confused.

"Your vein." Jibril said, "It looks like a geyser about to scorch anyone foolish enough to come close."  
Dustriel snorted in laughter at that, using his hand to try and suppress his chuckles. _That was just too funny_, he thought as he laughed quietly at the joke.

It seemed that he wasn't quite enough, as Ser Jeremiah's eyes homed in on him. "Is that funny to you boy?" he asked, glaring at him.

Dustriel stopped laughing, watching as everyone's eyes turned to him. He looked a bit scared at the notion, looking down at his feet before answering. "No milord, forgive me I wasn't thinking."

"No?" Jeremiah asked, jumping off of his steed and handing the reins to one of his men. "No I don't think it was either. Though I have you to thank for finding my son for me." He said, walking over to the young boy who stood there, refusing to meet his eyes. "Look at me boy."

Dustriel didn't not wanting to see the fury that no doubt still lurked there.

He felt his chin forced up; Jeremiah grasped it a he forced him to look up.

"I said look at me!" Jeremiah yelled, "Men look each other in the eye when they speak, cowering dogs stare at their heels! Which are you boy? Answer me!"

"That is quite enough Jeremiah." Catherine said, glaring at him from her position. "I've let you care on for far too long, I will not have you yell and terrify one of my squires. Let alone my son."

"Your son?" Jeremiah asked, looked from the woman who was like a little sister to him. Seeing the fierce protectiveness in her made him feel ashamed for how he was acting, then to the boy who he held in his grasp. Looking at those golden eyes who looked at him in fear, he knew in that moment he was wrong. "Forgive me my boy, I wasn't thinking. Thank you for your assistance."

Dustriel nodded shackingly to him, trying to sink back into the crowd. "It was no trouble my lord." He said, trying to leave but feeling the hand leave his chin only to rest upon his shoulder.

"I think that we should retire to your quarters Catherine." Jeremiah said, looking at the two boys. "We have much to discuss it seems."

* * *

**Well, that was an exciting ending, don't you agree? Now for those who are about to call bull on Dustriel just sitting there and taking that verbal lashing, remember that Jeremiah is one of his childhood heroes. He went to bed hearing about how great he was, he grew up idolizing this man. Imagine your childhood hero screaming in your face and terrifying you, you are not going to just start screaming back.**

**As for Jeremiah, his son went missing and while this might be a common occurrence (see how calm Jibril is throughout this whole thing), this is a diplomatic mission. He doesn't want to appear weak or incompetent to the people who raised him as a boy, he wants to show them the honor and respect that they deserve. We'll get into why he's gotten a shorter fuse than he did before (big reason being his best friend died dishonorably, kind of puts a damper on everything else). But Dustriel will get some good lessons from him, he's still an honorable man and he is ashamed of what he did.**

**Now, onto those footnotes I promised you:**

**-Silver Legion**

**The Silver Legion are known for being some of the most disciplined knight orders in all of Avalon. Their strength lies in their unity and their reliance on key formations reminiscent of the ancient Romans of Terra. Their shields are meant to guard their brother-knights rather than themselves, acting as one unit in battle in order to completely decimate their enemies with superior strategy and unity. They come from the rocky mountains of Saltum, hidden between the great peaks which shields them from most offensive maneuvers as the only way in lies in following the rocky trails that act like a labyrinth once one enters their territory. The only alliance that they have lies with the Shields of the River, starting off as nothing more than a pact of nonaggression and trade rights between the two as the Shields supplied them with power shields and the Legion gave them bolt pistols in return. The Legion is known to be some of the few who are able to replicate and reproduce bolt guns, hand crafting them themselves as a token of friendship to those knights who have proven to be true friends to their order. Their alliance with the Shields grew much stronger once the son of the Lord Commander, Jeremiah Shearwards, was sent to foster with them. There Jeremiah learned the ways of the Iron River, striking up a deep friendship the Nuhera siblings which grew into a fierce brotherhood between the two men who would go on to become the grandmasters of their respective orders. Jeremiah was the one who wanted to uproot the Golden Helms after their deceitful attack which cost the life of Ser Dustriel, vowing that he would destroy them for killing his sworn brother but was held back by the plea of Ser Catherine who stated that no more blood should be spilled and the murderer laid slain by her blade. The most notable of their ranks included Ser Jeremiah Shearwards the Oathkeeper and the 'Silver Cavalier' Jibril the Just, the man who would go on to become the first to follow the Primarch of the Eleventh as well as his truest right-hand man.**

**Sigil: A hippogriff flying above a range of mountains**

**Motto: A Word Once Given Must Be Honored**

**Country: Saltum**

**Grandmaster title: Lord Commander**

**Knight Errant: Knight Errants are known knights who are trusted to travel the land under the orders of their grandmaster to find recruits to fill the ranks of their order. They are trained in the ways of finding those who either have the strength or mindset that follows the teachings of their forefathers, taken back to be trained and knighted if they can prove themselves worthy. They are also trained in finding the wayward psykers of the land, whose who are 'blessed' with the powers of the Warp and must have a close eye on less they reap havoc with their powers. Knight Errants are not to be confused with hedge knights, those knights who owe no allegiance to a knightly order for whatever reason (be in banishment or desertion), this can come off as a great insult to a knight as it is equivalent to stating that they lack the honor that their order demands and will most likely end in a thrashing as we have learned.**

**Eldritch Knight: Each knightly order of Avalon had psychic knights who followed the teachings of their order in their individual paths. The most notable of course is that of the Shields of the River who followed the teachings of Iohannis the Indomitable, who taught that the Power should only be used to protect and founded the abjuration discipline. However, there are rumors of eldritch knights who could conjure sandstorms, bend forests to their will and much more. However, most eldritch knights are not members of their orders by choice as much as they were prisoners; when a knight errant found psykers in their lands they were given one of two options: to join their order and use their powers for the betterment of their kingdom or to die by their swords because to allow them to run free was to risk havoc breaking loose. Eldritch knights were trained to control their powers and to call upon it as a last resort, gaining martial prowess among their fellows.**

**Now, onto comments!**

**Bladerunner24k: Yes, Dustriel is very different from El'Johnson and the reason for this is because of their interpretations of what it means to be a knight. From my knowledge, The Lion only saw knights as just another type of soldier and treated them as such, using the chivalric code to his advantage. Dustriel is all about honor and chivalry, he grew up being raised to be a knight and all the idealism that goes into that as opposed to El'Johnson who grew up in the forests of Caliban by himself.**

**Reaper8183: Thank you for your kind words, I am still a bit new to this and reviews like this really help me keep going.**

**ATP: I assure you my friend, Dustriel will have a lot of hardship and heartbreak throughout his tale (it is the nature of 40K after all). However, my personal theory is that The Lost and Purged are not as dead as the Emperor would like us to think. He will have some moments where he can rival Curze in his methods (you do not mess with his world and get away with it). Last thing, you're thinking of the wrong Brynden when it comes to who I based Snapping Turtle after, I do have a soft spot for old Blood raven. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey, how's it going everybody? Hoped you all had a good start to the new year (Emperor know that I am struggling right now, fully booked schedules freaking suck). Now, what you are all really here for, the continuation of Dustriel's tale! Last we left off things were getting a little heated so let's just hop right into it shall we?**

"What was going through your head that made you think that making a scene in the middle of my bridge was a good idea?" Catherine asked, glaring across her desk at the Lord Commander of the Silver Legion. They had retreated back to her office after calming things back down, allowing work to continue under the watchful eye of Ser Bryden as she verbally tore into her fostered brother.

"I don't know Catherine." Jeremiah said, not willing to summon the courage to look her in the eye. Dustriel could feel the shame that was seeping off of him though he hid it well, no doubt from the years of hard service one would think that a verbal lashing was not so bad. That individual had clearly never met his mother it seemed.

"Not only did you cause a scene that makes me question your parental skills." Catherine said, turning her gaze to Jibril as she continued, who seemed to be engrossed with staring out the window. "Though if Dustriel had been foolish enough to do the same I would most likely act the same."

Jeremiah looked up at the comment, glancing at the boy who carried the same name as his sworn brother. "That does bring up the question of how you have a son Catherine. You were never one to simply settle down and marry, where did the lad come from?"

"That is none of your concern right now." Catherine seethed, her scowl growing stronger as she saw her old friend glance at her boy. Maternal wrath making her even more fearsome than before, Jeremiah flinched a bit but held his ground. "All you need to know is that he is my son and I do not take well to someone trying to intimidate him."

"I did not intimidate the boy!" Jeremiah exclaimed, furious at the boy. Jibril looked back to the conversation, raising his eyebrow at his father.

"Yes, you did Father." Jibril said, yawning as he looked back at the glaring grand masters who tried to pin him with their gaze. "You scared poor Dust so badly that he was shaking like a leaf. This is why I never introduce you to any of my friends, you always overact, and this ends up happening." Dustriel looked at his counterpart, a little shocked he could talk to his parent in such a manner. If he had done so to Catherine she would have beat him with a switch!

"I would suggest being silent boy." Catherine said, "We are in this situation because of you. If you had listened your Father as you should then he would have had no reason to have reacted the way that he did."

"I would say that you are in enough hot water as is young man." Jeremiah said, glaring with the fury that only an enraged parent could. "Not only did you sneak off from the group, but you also distracted Dustriel from his duties, if only I had a squire like him; someone who did their duties to the letter and without complaint." He continued, looking at the boy in question who beamed from the indirect praise.

"Now, the question is what are we to do about this?" Catherine said, leaning back in her chair as she thought about their predicament.

It was obvious to her that Jibril needed a different approach to what she was used to, to simply punish the boy would do no good as he would simply shrug it off and not learn his lesson. However, to do nothing would encourage him to continue his behavior which simply would not do. There had to be a balance, show him that he was in the wrong by showing him a good example of what he should be acting like.

Catherine looked over to Dustriel, smiling at seeing the happiness that the boy seemed to radiate since he had been around the young legionnaire. She had always hated the fact that her boy seemed to have no friends among his peers, how different he was and how skilled he was made him stand apart from the whole lot. Sure, the boy took to tutoring some of the squires on their martial skills and helping the smiths whenever he had free time, but it wasn't the same that having a true friend could fix. She remembered how isolated she felt, how vastly different life was as an aspiring knight but at least she had her brother with her. She looked over to Jeremiah, remembering when he arrived and the fond memories that they had made while he was fostered with them.

_That's it!_ Catherine thought, smiling as a plan began to brew within her mind. Her smile growing as she went through it with gusto, mapping out everything. It was so simple in hindsight, all she needed was Jeremiah's approval and it would all be done.

"Boys," Catherine said, looking at the two squires how shot up when she called to them, "I want you to leave me and Commander Jeremiah to discuss things for a bit." She said, watching as the two smiled at the news, most likely thinking that they were free from punishment. "You aren't off the hook yet, go see Ser Bryden for what he wants you two to do. If you're lucky he'll only have you polishing swords all day, if not I'm sure the stable master wouldn't minding you two shoveling dung." She saw the two pale at the thought, from experience she knew that the stables could get quite disgusting from all the varactyl dung. She had to suppress a shudder at the memories. "Now you two get before I ask him."

Dustriel and Jeremiah ran as fast as their legs could take them, not looking back or slowing their pace until they were far away from her office. Catherine chuckled at the sigh as did Jeremiah, laughing at their boys in the way that only a parent who knew their child needed a good scare every now and again.

"Now, down to business Jeremiah." Catherine aid, composing herself as she needed for her station. "I am happy to say that besides your outburst that our exchange has been pleasant as usual. Would you not agree?"  
"Of course," Jeremiah said, nodding his head in agreement. "More than pleasant, the new shields that we have received are performing better than your previous shipments. I assume that it was a new design or such that allowed this? I would like to meet the smith who is responsible if only to give my thanks."

"You just meet him, though I would say that he would undoubtedly be grateful to you for your thanks." Catherine replied, a little smug about her son's accomplishment.

"I did?" Jeremiah asked, a little confused at the reply, "I hate to say it but the only Shields that I've spoken to today were you, Ser Bryden and Dustri-." He stopped as he came to the realization, his eyes widening at the thought. "No way, I thought that you had him training to be a knight? Why would you have him hammering away in a smithy rather than training with lads his age?"  
"I fear that lads his age are too busy soiling their swaddling clothes than training to be knights." Catherine said, waving off her old friend's concern. "If I remember correcting wasn't it our brother who used to say that a knight should live for something besides war? I'm sure he would have approved of the boy learning to be a smith."

Jeremiah's eyes remained wide as he listened to Catherine, a little shocked at the revelation. "You're trying to tell me that a squire who looks to be at least twelve years old has barely lived one? Forgive me if I'm a little skeptical of this revelation."

"You are forgiven though it matters not to me if you believe it or not." Catherine stated, shrugging at Jeremiah's skepticism. "I found him on the riverbank, in a steel coffin that looked like it would have fit right in the Citadel the Parchments love so much. I know not his origins, but I have taken him as my son, and I will not be budged on this."

"Of course not, if you raised him and cared for him then he is yours by all rights." Jeremiah stated, seeing the stern looking on her face he knew it was not a subject he would be wise to touch upon easily. "Speaking of which, I hear that your boy was interested in seeing Fallen Star?"

"Dustriel will not be quiet about it." Catherine said, sighing at the memory of her son's stubbornness. "When I told him that he would have to wait until he had completed his apprenticeship and become a knight, he threw such a fit that I was half tempted to spank him in front of the entire order. Lucky for him that I was merciful and just did it in my office."

"You truly are a fiend Cath." Jeremiah said, chuckling at the thought. "Though I am happy to hear that he is interested in us. Do you think it would be possible to allow him to journey with us for a bit? Get out there and see the world for what it is? I'm sure your boy would be ecstatic about such an opportunity."

"Oh?" Catherine asked, feigning interest in such an idea. "Then who would I trust to train him while he is away? To discipline him fairly and justly? I think not, I made him a promise that he could travel once he's gained his knighthood and that would be the end of it. If he wishes to become a knight errant and travel Avalon at his leisure, then I will allow him but not until then." Her protectiveness grew stronger as she continued speaking, her eyes promised retribution if Jeremiah thought to push harder.

"I see that you will not budge on this topic." Jeremiah said, a little saddened "I think that our brother would have liked me to have had a spot in your boy's future, maybe even fostering him with us in order to keep our ties strong."

Catherine glared at him fully now, no longer hiding behind the façade of her infamous smile. "You would do well to remember that he was my brother long before he was ever yours. Where were you when he needed you most? Where were you when the Iron River was seeped in so much blood that it was almost impossible to tell whose body was your friend and enemy? When Cadmus murdered my dear brother, the only person who truly believed in me and supported me, where were you?"

"And you would remember that I was the one that wanted to reign destruction down upon them for that deed." Jeremiah said, his composure kept in check, if only just barely. "I wanted to march down upon Autumna and kill every single one of them for their misdeeds. It was you that kept me from avenging our brother! I would have done anything for Dustriel, he was the truest friend that I had ever known, and I have worn my shame for not being there when he died ever since! Do not tell me that I am wrong, he would have wanted us to have stayed together throughout anything. I am thinking of the future when we are gone, and our successors ask, 'Why we are still allies?'. Why they would not seek to tear each other's throats out? I do this not out of selfishness but to safeguard both the future of the Iron River and Fallen Star, for I love both my brothers in the Legion and in the Shields."

"The answer is still no Jeremiah." Catherine said, not willing to budge on the subject. The tension in the room was reaching a peak, the two grandmasters not willing to relent. Catherine turned her head to the side, breaking her stare with Jeremiah as she sighed. "But I think that you do bring up a good point. We do need some insurance to make sure that our close ties stay close."

"Oh?" Jeremiah asked, "What do you propose then?" He leaned back into his chair, the tension slowly seeping out of him. They had had this same argument since after the Helms had struck, the same old points and the same passion behind their actions, it was clear that neither would concede their side, so they agreed to always disagree on it.

"Before I put forth my suggestion, let me ask you something: did you enjoy your time when you were fostered here Jeremiah?" Catherine asked.

"Of course, I did." Jeremiah said, remembering all the good times he had spending his childhood in the Riverlands. "I was a little frightening going somewhere I had never been, having none of the friends I knew but I succeeded here. I meet some of the greatest men that I have ever known on the River, even swearing brotherhood with the truest friend that I made."

"I am happy to hear that you have such fond memories of us." Catherine said, smiling as she led up to her point. "How would you say that we continue that tradition?"

"Hm?" Jeremiah asked, confused for but a moment before realizing what she was asking. "You mean that-?!"

"Yes," Catherine said, "I would like to foster your boy, Jibril, with the Shields of the River. Is that alright with you?"

The two boys left the room as soon as Catherine gave the order, not willing to push the grandmaster further than they had already done.

"I'd like to think that we got off relatively easy." Dustriel said, looking relieved that Bryden would be overseeing their punishment. The worst that the old man would give would be sharpening swords or writing up the reports regarding the trade. Nothing exciting but at least it wasn't cleaning out the stables.

"You wore way too much Dust." Jibril said, waving off his companion's worries. "You need to cut loose a little, getting in trouble is part of our responsibilities. If we didn't who else would they yell at?" He said, pointing back to the office.

"Hopefully no one." Dustriel said, "Though there would always be that one recruit who would never quite get the swing of things."

Jibril's mannerism confused Dustriel a bit. Here he was a squire of the Legion, yet he acted the part of a simple farm hand going by his mannerism. That carefree attitude, that innocence, it intrigued Dustriel in no small measure.  
"Eh, we just make it easier for him. Think about the verbal lashing that he would get if we didn't let our parents vent a little?" Jibril asked, adopting a stern look upon his face, making him appear a little bit more like his father's. "'What do you think you're doing legionnaire? You know that your armor is breaking thirteen different regulations? What do you have to say for yourself?"

Dustriel laughed at the impression, a smile breaking across his face. "That would be bad. Well, at least you can meet Ser Bryden while you're here. The old man may be getting on in years, but he can still put the scare in the squires."

"I'm sure that will be quite the site." Jibril said, looking happy at the reminder. Dustriel could feel the excitement that his friend wasn't willing to share, the feeling of admiration was apparent to him. Whether those feeling would prove true was to be seen but he knew that Jibril would not be disappointed.

Throughout all the long days training and the nights studying, from the menial chores to the small tourneys that they hosted, he was always proud to be Ser Bryden's squire.

The two continued on, laughing and joking as only two boys could at that age. They passed numerous individuals, some servants who the two greeted warmly and who bowed when addressed. To knights from both orders, the Shields happy to see the normally stoic squire smiling merrily and the Legionnaires happy to see that someone could keep up with Jibril. If it wasn't for their supposed 'punishment' then the two likely would have just talked the day away, not even noticing that they were getting closer to their destination by the sound of an old man screaming at a page who just dropped a supply box, the ammunition landing on the ground.

"What in Seven hells is going through your mind boy?!" Bryden yelled, the boy shaking as he stood there under the verbal lashing. Dustriel could see a group of the boys watching the spectacle though none were brave enough to intervene. "It ain't exactly hard to pick a box up, put it in the armory and then come get another is it?!"  
"N-No Ser, tis not hard at all." The page meekly said, his voice hardly higher than a whisper.

"Then why the hell can't you do it then?!" Bryden asked, getting up in the boy's face. "Are you slow boy or just stupid?"

"Maybe if he didn't have a cranky old man bearing down at him all the time then he could do his work properly?" Dustriel asked, walking up to the two. The page's smile beamed up at him, Bryden looking a bit annoyed at his comment but he could tell that it was a farce.  
Dustriel bended down, picking up the bolt rounds and carefully putting them back into the munition box. The young page jumped to help, constantly apologizing as he assisted only for Dustriel to wave them off.

"Now do be careful from now on okay?" Dustriel asked, depositing the box into the page's eager hands. "We only have so much of these before our next exchange, we cannot afford to lose any needlessly."

"O-Of course Dustriel, I'll be careful." The page said, happy to be saved from his predicament. He hurried along, slowly and carefully this time as he went about his work.

"See what happens when you give them a little encouragement?" Dustriel asked, smiling at his master as he watched the boy join the other pages who were carrying the boxes in with the servants. "A little pat on the back never hurt no one."

"It might hurt you and that boy if you keep coddling them." Bryden said, crossing his arm as he raised an eyebrow at the lad. "This isn't a game Dustriel. I know I might seem a bit harsh but when you have to shape these boys into proper knights you have to beat them bloody hard or they won't get hard enough. Like a smith forging a sword, you don't put in the proper swings then you've got a useless piece of iron. I'm sure you would know what I'm talking about."

"Ah but showing them a bit of kindness surely never hurt." Dustriel said, walking the lad go about his business, that extra kick in his step letting him know that he made the right decision. "But down to business."

"Right," Bryden said, giving the two squires his full attention, "What do you two want? As you can see, I've got my hands full enough as is with these little tykes."

"Mother send us as a form of punishment." Dustriel said, shrugging at the look that Bryden gave him, "It was either help you with whatever you need or shove shit in the stables."

"W-We're happy to help!" Jibril said, a shaky smile on his face, his composure faltering. "Just point us in the right direction!" That blind admiration in Jibril's eyes spoke of his great respect for the old knight, Dustriel was reminded of a varactyl hatching looking up at its imprinted partner.

Dustriel looked to his friend, he could from one look that he was nervous. His eyes kept darting to and from, his palms were sweating, and he couldn't keep still. He was fine while they were walking, his normal happy self. _What's wrong with him? _Dustriel asked, looking at his master who looked as confused.

_Of course!_ Dustriel thought, it all made sense. Jibril obviously must had admired Bryden, he no doubt had heard stories of the Snapping Turtle and would look up to him. Dustriel couldn't fault him, Ser Bryden was a good man, an excellent knight and an even better master of their order. Even if he kept to teaching the young pages and beating the squires into proper knights, he was still a man worthy of their respect.

"Ser Bryden," Dustriel said, putting his hand on his friend's shoulder as he introduced him, "This is Jibril Shearwards, son and squire to Lord Commander Jeremiah Shearwards. He's going to be staying with us until his Father finishes up with his business, Ser Jeremiah told us that we are to work him to the bone."

"Is that so?" Bryden asked, looking the boy over before shrugging a shoulder. "Eh, doesn't look like much but I'm sure that we can use him." Bryden looked back to the pages, watching them ferry boxes to the armory and then back to the boys. "I don't really need the two of you here right now, little lads have it together, but I could use you two to go and repair some gear that's fallen into disrepair." He pointed behind him to the front of the armory. "I have it laid out on the table so get to it, you know what needs to be done Dustriel and I'm sure that you can tell your friend how it works. Come find me when you're done."

"Will do Ser." Dustriel said, smiling as he directed his friend to their destination. "Won't be but a minute."

"What's wrong with you Jibril?" Dustriel asked, "You acted like you didn't know how to keep still."

"Oh, shut it will you." Jibril hissed back, his composure coming back once they had left Ser Bryden behind. "He's just so amazing! I never thought that I would get to talk to THE Snapping Turtle! The man's a living legend!" The blush in his cheeks and his silver eyes darting this way and that, his embarrassment made Dustriel chuckle a bit as his friend puffed his cheeks out at him.  
"Eh, I suppose so." Dustriel replied, indifferent to the awe that seemed to sweep up his companion.

He had known Bryden for his entire life, he was a man worthy of respect, but he had always just thought of him as his master or as a grandfather growing up. He loved the old man, but he had seen a side of him that most people didn't. That of the screaming drill master that wouldn't hesitate to put someone through the ringer just for the fun of it.

The two entered the armory, right away they could see the rows of power swords held in their wooden cases and power spears hanging on the way. Along with a few suits of power armor that looked old and battered, their lifetime of constant repairs and damages shown clearly and put here if only for a new wielder to choose it. Dustriel could easily pick out the table that Bryden had referred to as it was littered with chipped blades, dented in shields and a few bolt revolvers laid scattered amongst the clutter.

"Alright, let's get to it." Dustriel said, nodding at the mess before turning to Jibril, "You know how to sharpen a blade and repair armor don't you?" It was a good question, it was a requirement for all squires to know how to maintain their master's gear at the Shields and assumed that the Legion did as well, but to what length he could not say.

"Of course." Jibril replied, once gain back to his regular cheerful self, "I better with cleaning guns than I am sharpening blades, but I can get the job done either way."

"That's good to hear," Dustriel said, pondering on what they should do. With the two of them it should be fairly easy to get this done, roughly an hour if they went about it properly. "How about you focus on the guns and I'll do the swords. Better to stick to what we know, and we'll get out of here a lot earlier."

"Sounds good to me." Jibril said, rolling up the sleeves of his tunic. "Where's all your cleaning supplies?"

Dustriel pointed to a bench next to the grind stones, assorted on it was the basic tools that one needed to clean a bolt gun. It was a part of their trade agreement, but it laid hardly touched since the Shields preferred to save as much of their ammo as they could. They relied on their blades to get the job done with their sidearms as backup.

Jibril nodded and got to work, pulling one of the many guns on the table and getting to work. Dustriel watched on as Jibril stripped the weapon into three parts in but a few moments, lying the body of the gun down along with the chamber and barrel, grabbing a scrub and stuffing it through the chamber. His silver eye laser focused on his work, Dustriel could see all that was wrong with the weapon and his mind worked through how to fix it in as little time as possible. Jibril went through all those steps. Cleaning the barrel and jamming the brush through it a few times, breaking the chamber down into even more parts so as to completely clean the mechanical parts inside and putting it together with no difficulty, grabbing a rag and shining the body of the gun to a lush shine then putting it back together again. This all took him but a few minutes and once gone, Jibril put the revolver done and in one of the hostlers built into the table.

Dustriel had to admit that he was a little impressed, the technique of his cleaning and the way that he seemed to know that weapon inside and out would have made the average squire a bit jealous. _Maybe he's learning how to be a gunsmith while squiring for his father?_ He thought, nodding in satisfaction. But he wouldn't be outdone so easily, if Jibril knew guns as well as he claimed then he was on par with Dustriel's knowledge of power blades.

Dustriel pulled a power sword off of the table, looked it over to see what appeared to be the issue. From the dull shine of the weapon it appeared that it had not been cleaned nor sharpened in quite some time.

_We'll just have to fix that won't we?_ Dustriel thought, taking the blade over to the grindstone. He set the edge across it as he pumped the peddle, pulling the blade back and forth in order to evenly distribute the sharpening. His eyes narrowed in concentration, all around him seemed not existent as he focused on the task before him.

The sharpening took but a minute, as Dustriel pulled the blade away it appeared as if it could act as a mirror from the shine that it took. He tried to fire up the power mechanism, though it took far too long and the ethereal glow was much too weak to be of any use. He put the sword down on a nearby table, taking out a screwdriver and went to work on fixing the problem.

After a few tweaks everything seemed to be in order, Dustriel smiled to himself as he watched the sword glow with the blue light that he was accustomed to seeing, lightning seemed to hum off of it as it was restored to working order. He nodded to himself, pleased at his success and set the sword down in one of the numerous wooden stands now that he was done with it.

"How'd you do that?" Jibril asked, a little impressment showing in his voice, "I've never seen anything like it." The spark of intrigue in his eyes was enough to make Dustriel feel good about his skills.

"How'd you rip that pistol apart and put it back together?" Dustriel replied, a little pleased at the praise. "Because I've worked with it for so long and I know it inside and out. I can teach you if you want?"

"Thank you," Jibril said, "I've never really been good with cleaning blades if I'm to be honest. Give me a gun and I can fieldstrip and clean every bit of it. But those tiny mechanism of our swords, they're just impossible to distinguish."

Dustriel hummed in response, it could be intimidating for someone on their first try but once you knew how they worked it was quite easy to do. He beckoned Jibril over as he picked up a blade, walking over to the grindstone once more and set to work. He went step by step on how one was to sharpen a blade, how to tell when you needed to alternate sharpening each side and when you knew that a blade was sharp enough to stop. Jibril's eyes narrowed in concentration as he watched his instruction, the way that he paid close attention and questioned his methods brought joy to Dustriel as he taught. It made him feel as if he were a knight teaching a new squire and made him look forward to the day when he had his own.

Dustriel then walked over to the worktable, placing the blade down and once again opening the mechanism. He showed Jibril every nook and craning that he could, telling how to tell when the power generator was faulty or when something needed to be adjusted in order to maximize efficiency. He was always willing to go over things a second time if Jibril needed him to, never annoyed or bothered by it. No one could be perfect, and it was better to ask questions now than to allow him to make a mistake and be discouraged by it.

"And that's how you take proper care of your blade." Dustriel said, happy to help his companion. Jibril nodded, seeming to understand. "Now, obviously this is only an overview. A squire doesn't have the knowledge in order to forge a sword so always ask questions if you need help."

"Well, that is fair." Jibril said, "How do you know so much about swords then? As you said a squire doesn't need to know this."

"Well, you can say that it is a hobby of mine." Dustriel said, a little bashful, "I like making things with my hands and Mother said that it was good to have something to occupy one's free time with."  
"Do you know anything about bolt guns?" Jibril asked, interested.

"Sadly, only the bare minimum." Dustriel admitted, "We have low ammunition reserves and thus have to make sure that we make every bullet could. It's so bad that most squires are only allowed a small amount in order to learn the basics. If they want more than their masters have to forfeit some of their own in order for them to learn."

"How can that be?" Jibril asked, a little shocked at the notion, "We give you a good amount of ammunition every supply run, new guns and you still are without?" The notion that they would short change their allies made Jibril upset, not knowing any reason why that might be the case.  
"You have to remember that we have a good amount of men Jibril, to be honest I believe that that deal was only meant to supply the officers of the order originally. It has gotten better to be sure, but we make do as we can." Dustriel said, resigned to the fact. He himself did not get much training with firearms but that was because he did not need it, when the pistol first went into his hands it was like he was made to fire a gun. He had never missed his target and thus did not need to train as much as the other squires did.

"I'll speak to Father on your behalf." Jibril said, a little concerned. "It is not right that you should go without, the Legion has been your steadfast ally and yet it feels like we have failed you." He would make sure that they got what they needed, they were friends of their order and should be treated with the proper respect! Not giving them the proper equipment felt wrong to him, Dustriel could feel it in his friend's mind.

"Worry not, we'll make do." Dustriel said, waving him off, "We always do."

"Well, at least let me return the favor that I owe you." Jibril said, "Surely I can teach you a bit about the bolt revolver."  
"If you say so, but there is no need. I am always happy to help." Dustriel said, taking a seat as Jibril took that initiative to start.

Jibril broke the gun down into its separate parts, explaining all their names and functions. He took a rag and then went to clean it, lightly but firmly removing the dirt and grime upon it. He then brought the brush, getting into the hard to reach parts and going on about the order in which one should clean a gun. Dustriel sat there and drank it all in, his mind processing the procedure and filling in all the gaps that might have been missing.

"Hm, I see." Dustriel said, sitting there in deep thought. "It seems simple enough, let me have a go at it."  
Jibril nodded, picking up one of the unclean guns and setting it down on the table. He watched as Dustriel broke it down and then went about cleaning it, watching in amazement as he was able to replicate his technique without a single mistake, his hands seemed a blur that went through so many different movements as he went to work.

The revolver was put down in what seemed like but half a minute. The shine off of the metal and the fresh look of the handle made it appear brand new.

"H-How'd you do that?" Jibril asked, a little shocked but more impressed. That was amazing, simply unbelievable to his eyes.

"I just did what you said." Dustriel said, waving it off. "How about we switch for now? I'll clean the guns; you know them well enough that repairing them will not expand your skill. You clean the blades; you could use a bit more practice with them. If either of us needs help then we'll help, deal?" He said, offering a handshake.

"S-Sure." Jibril said, taking the offered hand. It seemed fair enough, and it would offer a bit of a challenge.

The two swiftly got to work, a little happy at the challenge as well as the change in pace.

It took the pair only two hours to get the armory clean to their expectations. The craftsmen within them wouldn't allow either one of them to half ass their work, going the extra length in order to make sure that it was perfect.

"Well that was an adventure." Jibril said, wiping the sweat away from his brow. Say what you will but tedious cleaning was hard work.

"Well if you just learned the proper sharpening correct sooner than we would have been done a half hour ago." Dustriel said, a little annoyance seeping through his voice. He had had to go back and resharpen a few of the first swords that Jibril had sharpened, it was a good job but there was still a bit that could have been improved.

"I swear Dust," Jibril said, "You are striving for perfection way too hard." He looked to his friend; his right eye twitched as he saw the stoic look, he was receiving back. "You need to just relax a bit, wouldn't kill you."

"It's best to always strive to improve one's self." Dustriel responded, "It's the only way that we learn and get better."

"I swear." Jibril said, sighing, "You're the kind of knight that's going to make your squire hand scrub all of your ammo."  
"I would do no such thing!" Dustriel exclaimed, feigning shock. "Besides, how clean one's ammo is of no consequence as opposed to how sharp your blade is!"  
"What was that?!" Jibril yelled back, butting heads with his compatriot. "Making sure that your ammo is clean and efficient is way more important than a sharp sword! Besides, a gun is just more efficient in general!" The childish outburst was made all the more amusing by the mock shock upon his face.

"Have you no honor man?!" Dustriel yelled back, continuing their mock fight. The two continued bickering as they continued on their way, the argument lasting way more than either of them anticipated as they made their way to the training grounds.

They could see numerous squires training with their apprenticed knights, watching as they were thrust down on the ground and taught how to avoid such a thing, be it with blade or shield.

They watched one squire who was knocked down again and again, his knight shaking his head every time he went down. This continued on until the boy was able to properly parry the blow with his practice sword, getting a pat on the shoulder as he beamed up at his master.

Dustriel smiled at the sight, always happy to see the young squires make their knights proud. The joy in their eyes and in their hearts, it made him glad that he was able to work so closely with the young recruits.

The two continued on, Dustriel leading the way as he had walked this path numerous times since he was born. They walked until they reached one of the more open training grounds, the old unused tourney square where knights of old would square off against each other as they jousted upon their varactyl.

They passed a line of benches upon which sat a number of older knights who didn't notice them until the two waved to them. They were much too busy watching a number of the pages training, either keeping an eye on their charge or looking to pick one up who had yet to find someone to apprentice under.

Dustriel weaved throughout the crowd, all too used to it as he made his way up to his old master, nodding as he caught his attention.

"Done already?" Bryden asked, a teasing smile on his face. He knew the lad well enough to know that he wouldn't have left the job half done.

"Took a bit but we got the job done." Dustriel said, gesturing to Jibril now nervously nodded back to the old man. "Learned a little about guns while we worked, all in all it was…fun." He said, not used to using that word.

Work was not meant to be fun; it was meant to be hard and fulfilling. That was what duty required of him but since Jibril had come along it was all just a jumbled mess. Hopefully it would make sense in time.

"Fun, huh?" Bryden asked, a little curious at the answer. He dismissed it not a second later, in the end as long as it got done, he didn't care. He looked at the two boys, thinking on what they should do next. He hummed as he looked out at the field, the young pages he was looking after, two of them doing some light sparring as the rest watched. It was nothing too fancy, one boy would try and strike while the other hide behind a shield, going back and forth for a bit but there was no true fire in their strikes. Maybe they could do with an example, something to try and imitate to better themselves?

"Alright lads, bring it in!" Bryden yelled out, the young boys stopping midway as they gathered around their instructor. "Alright you lads were doing alright today, though I could see that you weren't truly into your training." He said, giving all of them a stern eye. "Nothing flashy or exciting is it? Did you all just expect that the likes of Dustriel of the Keen Edge and Oathkeeper Jeremiah walked onto a battlefield without learning the basics, springing into master swordsmen without trying?"

All of the squires looked to each other, a little uneased. It was true that most believed that there would be more fun involved in training. But all they had done today was simple slashes and blocking with their shields, nothing that truly stood out to them or made them want to continue (besides the notion that they would displease Ser Bryden, no one wanted that).

"Well, lucky for you lot that I got me some helpers today." Bryden said, gesturing to the two squires behind him. "You all know Dustriel, heck I bet you lads think of him as your second mentor eh? Some shining example of what to follow?"  
All the boys nodded, smiling at Dustriel as he waved back at them. He had always been willing to help them when they needed it, giving out extra lessons and taking the time to understand their individual problems. He was like an older brother to them.

"Well, he'll be helping me out today with a new friend of his." Bryden said, grasping Jibril by the shoulder and pulling him closer. "This here is Jibril Shearwards, the Lord Commander's boy! What do you lot think of this little troublemaker?" He asked, getting giggles as the boys watched Jibril's face heat up.

They had all seen the commotion that he had made with his appearance, the screaming Lord Commander's face was burned into their memory but what was better was how nonchalant Jibril was in front of it. Yet here he was, getting so flustered over being man handled by an old man.

"So, these two are going to spar for you lads." Bryden said, the look of excitement in the pages' faces all too bright.

The two squires look at each other, grinning as they looked at their opponent. They both thought the same thing in that moment: _I'm going to win this!_

"These two are going to show you how those basic strikes you lads were doing can be put effectively into battle and that there is a lot more to consider when in a fight." Bryden continued, lecturing them as to always get back to the point of an exercise. He then looked to the two squires, staring at each other, the two unwilling to budge from the other's stare. "What are you two waiting for? Get to it! Get ya gear and your blades and let's do this!"

The two broke their stare in but a moment after the order, bowing to the old knight before proceeding to doon their equipment. It took them but a few minutes to get ready, their equipment properly secured as well as their practice arms in hand.

Jibril took the standard shield and spear that was standard to the Silver Legion, no doubt well trained in its use. He gave his spear a couple sweeps and stabs, testing out its balance, smiling once he got the hang of it.

Dustriel carried the same arms except that he seemed to favor a sword today, his shield bearing the iconic tortoise that was the coat of arms for the Shields. The serious look on his face made the pages look on in awe, this is what a man of the River should look like they knew in their hearts. And in but a few moments they would see how one fought.

"Alright you two, I want a good clean fight." Bryden said, walking inbetween the two, the two lads narrowed their eyes at each other. "That means no underhanded tactics, no swearing, and no sore losing." He said, raising his eyebrow to each of them.

"Aye." Dustriel replied, nodding.

"Of course." Jibril said, smirking. "Wouldn't want Dust to throw a temper tantrum when I knock him into the dirt."

"Funny, I was just about to say the same thing." Dustriel responded, grinning in turn.

"Remember, only to the first clean strike. I won't have any blood in my ring unless I'm knocking your teeth out for breaking my rules." Bryden said, looking between the two as he raised his hand. He held it there for a moment, the two squires tensing their muscle, their hands on their blades tight.

Bryden held his arm up for a few seconds, dropping it at his count as he cried, "Begin!"

The two boys instantly lashed out at each other; their blades blocked by their opponent's shield. The two continued on for a bit, neither one truly gaining n advantage as they fought for dominance.

Dustriel grunted as he took another blow against his shield, it was a good thing that he was holding back, he hadn't had a challenge like this in quite a bit! He brought his sword down again, a simple slash aimed across the chest, but it was blocked at the last moment. Truly, this was a fight worth having!

Jibril took the blow, sliding it across his shield before responding with a jab from his spear which was easily blocked. He turned that into a sweep with the bladed edge of the spear, using the advantage of the length of his weapon in order to try and knock his opponent off. Unfortunately, there was no such luck, Dustriel blocking it at the last moment if only just barely.

The squires looked on it shock; this was what they thought of when they would be training. The ferocity of battle, the stringing of strikes that made up the elegant dance of the sword, a fierce rival that could force one to their limits. Truly, they were watching two legends in the making.

Dustriel lashed out with a back swipe against his opponent's spear, watching as Jibril's eyes widened in shock. He danced around the long blade, stepping in closer in order to get a clean hit. He raised his sword, his face stoic though his eyes held a wild look to them. _It's over!_ He thought.

Only it was not to be. Jibril struck forward with his shield, hitting Dustriel in the chest and forcing him back. The confident smirk on his face seemed to mock Dustriel, who narrowed his eyes as his opponent gestured for him to try again as he beckoned him with his shield. Oh, that was not a wise choice, to provoke a tortoise to bite you.

Dustriel roared as he charged forward, slowly increasing the might of his blows as he continued on. Jibril was forced onto the defensive, barely able to hold on as the blows hammered him this way and that, grimacing as he knew that if he did not do something soon, he would lose the match.

Jibril waited until his adversary was good and well into his frustrations before applying the finishing touch. "Oi, Dust! I heard that you Shields were meant to be the best at the art of defense, but with strikes like that one can only doubt your resolve!" He yelled.

The golden eyes of his rival lightened up with new zeal as the blows kept coming. Just as Dustriel was in the middle of the swing, Jibril dodged the thrust towards his head and struck out with his spear, happy to have made contact. But was shocked when at the same time looking at the shield which should have been well out of the way (_When had it gotten in the way?_), he felt a blow to his head which send him to the ground.

"And that's it lads!" Bryden yelled, grinning at the display that the two gave. "That was a good fight lads, though there was a bit that you two need to work on!"

"Dustriel!" Bryden yelled, the squire jumping to attention, "You should never have let Jibril bait you, I know you've normally a good head on you but you need to make sure that you keep it that way." Dustriel nodded, a little embarrassed that he was so easily distracted.

"Jibril!" Bryden yelled, looking at the lad on the ground who still had a dazed and confused look. "It was a good idea to try and distract Dustriel, he's a skilled opponent, but you should never try and use cheap tricks in order to win! It sullies the victory; it is better to have an honest defeat than a dishonest victory!" He exclaimed walking up to the boy who slowly got back to his feet, "Do I make myself clear?!"

"Yes sir." Jibril said, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head. It was the only thing that he could think to do, Dustriel was overpowering him and he was forced onto the defense (one in which he could barely hold on). Could anyone blame him?

"I know it's easy to want to win no matter the cost." Bryden said, slapping the boy on the shoulder, seeing the look of conflict on the boy's face. "But you need to keep to a code, otherwise where do you draw the line in what is and isn't right in a fight?"

Dustriel walked forward, a little smile on his face as he offered his hand out to Jibril who shook it in earnest. "That was a good match Jibril, hopefully we can have more like it."

"Of course." Jibril said, his grin back in its rightful place. "But I won't lose next time, you hear?"

"Of course, I look forward to it." Dustriel said, chuckling.

The pages all cheered at seeing such a prowess of the blade, crowding around the two and hammering questions upon them ("How'd you do that? Can you teach he how? Please?"). The two squires got to breaking the younger boys into pairs, showing them how to swing a blade properly or how to guard against it with a shield. After they got the basics down they set the boys to working on their technique, stating that the only way to properly learn is through constant repetition which would become habit soon enough.

Jibril and Dustriel looked at their handiwork, the pages slowly learning the steps that all great fighters must undergo, then to each other before chucking to each other. Truly there was no place quite like the Iron River.

"I put some thought into what you said Catherine." Jeremiah said, continuing to look at the window which gave a clear view of the old tourney grounds.

"Oh?" Catherine asked, looking over to her old friend. "And?"

"I think that it is a good enough idea." Jeremiah said, fighting to keep down the smile that threatened to sprout upon his face. That match reminded too much of old forgotten days, days where he had spent with a friend that he would never forget. Perhaps it would not be so bad to allow that brotherhood to be passed on to the next generation.

"We'll of course accommodate you." Catherine said, nodding.

"No need," Jeremiah replied, waving his hand at the notion. "I saw some of the new equipment that your men have supplied. Work like that is more than enough for this small favor."

"If you are sure." Catherine said, "I would not want it said that the Shields had tried to cheat you."

"Perish the thought." Jeremiah said, "Any fool who would believe that deserves nothing short of a kick in the teeth. I'll tell Jibril that he will be staying here for the next few years, it's best if he hears it from me. Do you have an idea of who should be his apprenticed knight?"

"Hm, I'll take him under my wing if it is all the same to you." Catherine replied after a moment of thinking, "If that is sufficient for you?"

"More than I hoped." Jeremiah said, losing the battle he waged internally as a smile crept upon his face. "If there's anything that you need, don't hesitate to ask."  
The Lord Commander bowed to his counterpart before departing, thoughts of the future weighing heavily upon their minds but both knew that as long as they stayed true to each other and their men that all would be well.

**So, what do you guys think? To be honest this chapter was kind of a pain to right, I can't do combat to save my life but if one is facing a Primarch (even a young one) then it's really no contest on who will win.**

**I hope that you guys are liking Jibril's character, as you guys can guess he's meant to act as a foil to Dustriel in that he is the exact opposite in a lot of ways. Where Jibril is carefree and free spirited, Dustriel is serious and duty drive to do what is expected of him. This makes them clash a lot but as they say, opposites attract and these two are going to be bros for life. **

**Now, onto questions/comments!**

**Austin123: Thank you for your comment, I would like to say that Avalon is a vastly different world and it's Primarch has a vastly different viewpoint of how his Legion functions. Whereas someone like the Khan would like all their men to break away from their traditions and tactics into one unified entity, Dustriel's more about using those different tactics and approaches to combat to diversify his armies (his knights are like the XIII in that way, just with giant lizard mounts who are just as deadly as their riders). But I do appreciate that you are liking Dustriel, I felt like that I was failing to properly put into words who he is (if that makes any sense).**

**York52: Just to clarify because for some reason I keep getting this question, there will be no romance in this story. The only love that Dustriel is concerned with is that of the bonds of brotherhood, he loves his men like his own blood and would slaughter anyone to keep them safe (kind of like a certain raving berserker we all know and love). Romantic love would just get in the way of that so Dustriel takes a big 'NOPE!' to that. But the Howling Banshees do have a role to play in regard to the XI's life, he just doesn't love them romantically. Thank you for the idea of Thuyel's Craftworld, I did not hear this story before but it has given me some ideas.**

**Sorry folks, no big cliff notes tonight, we're weren't exposed to anything new so there was no need. I should be done with the Iron River in a chapter or two (probably going to do some time skips, get to the good stuff). Next chapter, training with abjuration and a message from the Sigilette (love the old man not to include him) so turn in next month to see that!**


	6. A Message from the Sigil Bearer

**A/N: How's it going guys? Sorry that it's been a while, with the Coronavirus and midterms I did not have a lot of time to write. I will say that being a college student is both a blessing and a curse. However, you all did not come here to listen to me rant about stuff. No, you came here to read about Ser Dustriel's rise to rulership, well I will say that is a long way away, but we will get there at the end. As always, if you have a question or comment simply list it and I will address it at the end of the chapter. It's always fun to address whatever is interesting to you guys.**

Chapter 6: The Lessons of the River, A Message from the Sigil Bearer

It had been another year since Dustriel had been brought to the ancestral home of the Shields. It seemed that wherever the boy went that rippled seemed to follow, changing things subtly as he helped his fellow brothers. However, this year had once again showed the unnatural nature of the friendly squire as he now stood as tall as a fully grown man. If one were to see him, they would be shocked to learn that he was the son of Catherine of the Serene Smile, a woman that he now dwarfed by a head. However, one would not be surprised with the stern nature that the woman could take when the lad was acting out. The message that she had taken a squire was one that the knights of the Riverlands remember all too well.

"_What did you just say?" Dustriel asked, a little shocked at the news. Jibril stood next to him, a knowing glint in his eyes as Catherine addressed the two._

"_I said that young Jibril shall be staying with us for the next five years." Catherine said, looking up from the stack of papers that she needed to fill out. "I have taken the liberty of taking him under my wing as my squire as well. I fear that any other offer would have been an insult to Ser Jeremiah." _

_Bryden stood behind her, nodding at her statement. To offend the Lord Commander would have been inexcusable after the fiasco that he had caused, this way they were able to get something out of the meeting without putting the two grand masters at each other's throats._

"_B-But that's not fair!" Dustriel yelled, a little anger showing in his eyes. Catherine looked up at the outburst, not used to Dustriel fighting one of her decision. "Why does he get to be your squire when I am better than he is!"_

_Jibril looked a little hurt at the statement, he did not choose this. He could tell that Dust was upset at this; he could see the envy that shone in his eyes though he doubted his friend understood what it meant. If he could trade places with him, he would but he did not have that power, it was up to their parents to decide._

"_What did you just say?" Catherine asked, her voice barely louder than a whisper. Dustriel and Bryden could feel the rage coming out of that statement though it sounded as sweet as honey. However, it was the sweet smile that she projected that truly terrified the two. It seemed more fitting to be on the face of a fair maiden than that of the battle-hardened warrior that they knew, however it promises pain and suffering if Dustriel were to continue with his outburst._

"_I'm better than any other squire in all of Avalon!" Dustriel yelled, looking down as he balled his fists ever tighter. "I'm stronger, faster, more intelligent! I've never lost a fight to anyone in my life and there's nothing that could hope to try! Then why am I not honored the way that I should?!"_

_Catherine stood up at that, walking over the side of the table. When she reached Dustriel she kneeled down to his height, cupping his face with her fingers. She looked him right in the face, still smiling before she smacked him right across._

"_You are not better than any of them." Catherine said, losing the façade of the smile as she allowed her glare to bleed through. "I don't care how strong you may think that you are, a man that tries to put down his fellows is nothing more than an arrogant cur." Dustriel looked up to her, hurt shown in his eyes which broke her heart to look upon. But this needed to be said._

"_Remember this my son." Catherine said, putting her hands on her son's shoulders. He tried to shrug her off, but she remained firm. "Your brothers are the only people that are worth anything in this world. They are the ones worth fighting and dying for, I would willing give my life to protect any one of them and so should you. It is only when we help each other and work together that we show true strength, a strength that nothing in this world could ever hope to overcome. Do you understand?"_

_Dustriel nodded, tearing falling from his eyes as he mumbled out 'sorry' over and over. Catherine pulled him to her chest, her presence putting the young man at ease in a way that nothing else could. _

After that Dustriel threw himself even more into helping the other members of the order. It mattered not if they were squires, smiths, even the masters themselves. He always had a helping hand to those that needed it.

"You need to watch your footwork." Dustriel said, tapping the squire on the heel with a stick. The boy readjusted himself, now in a proper position as his weight was evenly spread out. "Remember, if someone can knock you on your ass then you've already lost."

"Yes ser." The boy said, his blade held in position to swing, his eyes narrowed at his opponent. Dustriel had been giving the two tips as a favor to their masters. So far it seemed that they were getting the hang of things.

Dustriel stepped back a bit, in line with Jibril before declaring another round. He now dwarfed his mischievous companion, something that Jibril always poked fun at. As if saying, 'You'll get so big that the only thing they could call you is Dustriel the Tall!' The two shared more than a few chuckles over that.

"So, thoughts old boy?" Jibril asked, grinning up at his friend. "If I say so myself that you were made to be an instructor. You could teach the most talentless squire and shape him into a legend if you had to."

"Comes with my tutelage I suppose." Dustriel said, his eyes never wavering from the boys sparring. He didn't know how he knew the things that he did, what and how each weapon should be wielded along with so much more. But he knew enough that he could impart that to others and make sure that they could get the basics down. "I was trained by Master Bryden so I'm sure that I've picked up a thing or two from him."  
"If you say so." Jibril replied, "But I have to say that this is in your blood Dust. I'm sure that any squire will be lucky to have you when you get knighted."

Dustriel merely nodded at the comment, knowing that their time was soon coming up. The two were some of the best fighters that the Shields had, constantly improving one another's technique with their relentless sparring. Dustriel had even taken up the glaive after seeing how deadly Jibril could handle a spear with just one hand, in exchange he had taught the legionnaire the finer points of swordsmanship. They had only a bit left to learn before they were ready, Bryden mentioning that the only thing left was mastery of the arcane teachings before he could call himself an Eldritch Knight.

His Mother and Bryden had always been hesitant about him learning about the arcane. His prowess in mind reading something that had always disturbed them to a degree, fearful for him for some reason, but he had always taken great care to be careful and nothing had happened. Maybe now was the proper time, he always believed in the wisdom of the masters in this regard and had never led him astray.

Dustriel looked up at the two young boys sparring, watching as one hide behind his shield as the other ruthlessly attacked him with his practice sword before calling it for the day.

"Alright you two, that's quite enough." Dustriel said, the two stopped as soon as he said so. He walked over to them, a proud gleam in his eye. "Now, that was a good fight you two. But remember, you need a balance of offense and defense. Merely relying on one will cripple you as a fighter, there is a reason why we stress the sword and shield starting out before moving on to other weapons."

"Yes ser." The two said, snapping to attention. The two, like many others, looked up to the giant like a big brother. Dustriel could feel the admiration coming off of them as he pats them on the shoulder.

"You lads get out of here." Jibril said, grinning as he made a playful shooing motion with his hand. "We've got our own training to get to, you don't get as good as us without constantly training."

The two young boys ran off, chatting excitingly to each other as only brothers in arms could. Dustriel smiled at the sight before returning his gaze to his Jibril, a challenging glint in his eyes.

"What do you say Jibril?" Dustriel asked, pulling his glaive off of his back. It was of good craftsmanship but nothing that stood out, he had picked it up recently from Walt when he decided to focus more on the polearm. "Up for another round before the Old Man gets here?"

"You don't have to tell me twice Dust." Jibril replied, drawing his sword from his belt and unfastening his shield from his back.

The two stood there for a time, staring the other down. They had long since memorized the other's stance, knew each other's weaknesses as if they were their own. A bird cried, the water rippled, and a fish flew. The two sprang into action when it flopped back into the river.

Dustriel struck with his glaive, keeping the legionnaire from getting too close. The advantage of the weapon was its long reach and its weakness. He could not afford for his opponent to get too close. He continued with a flurry of swipes and stabs, making sure to hold back enough that he wouldn't hurt his companion.

Jibril was able to keep most of the strikes strictly to his shield, a smile blooming on his face with the increased ferocity of each strike. He parried the glaive, seeking to get inside of his opponent's guard only to be rebuffed when Dustriel tried to strike him with the length of the pole. This continued on for a bit, neither really trying to best the other as much as enjoy the battle.

Dustriel gave out a yell, charging forth and swiping the shield out of the way. He redirected the blade, Jibril drawing his sword as the two put their blades at the other's throat. The two each had a small smirk; no hard feeling were shared as they withdrew their blades. They clasped each other's forearms in a handshake.

"Good show, it never gets boring fighting you Dust." Jibril said, his smirk larger than his counterpart's.

"Same to you Legionnaire, you're the only one that I can get really let loose against." Dustriel said, a little happy at that fact. He might not be going all out, but he did not lie when he said that he was the only one he was used to going up against in a real test of skill.

"Are you two quite down yet?" A familiar voice called, the two boys looking over. The older man stood there with a smirk on his face, an eyebrow raised to the two.

"What can I say Ser Bryden?" Jibril asked, smirking at the old knight. "The two of us can't seem to keep still, I'm sure that back in your glory days you had much the same problem."

"I'm still in my glory days runt." Bryden snapped back, "In Avalon only the truly skilled get to live to be my age. But my 'tales of glory' aren't while we're here today and the two of you could learn that there is more to knighthood then trying to point each other with blades." He gestured to the riverbank, walking over and taking a seat.

The two took a seat at his feet, looking up to him attentively. The three knew what they were here about, Bryden already sharing the lesson plan for today with them as he primarily taught the two since Catherine was much too busy.

"Now, what I am going to teach you today is nothing light." Bryden said, falling back into his 'lecture mode' as they called it. The serious glint in his eyes and the movement of his hands as he spoke something that they were quite used to. "The teachings of Ser Iohannis are not to be played with lest you wish to invoke your own doom."

"We understand Master." Dustriel said, nodding with a similar gleam in his demeanor.

"No, you don't." Bryden said, shaking his head at the notion. "To learn the arcane ways, you must always be careful. One slip and you will lose yourself to what lies beyond the Veil."

"The Veil?" Jibril asked, confused. "What is that?"

"The Veil is where Eldritch Knights draw their power from, keeping with the teachings of their order that have been passed down from master to student for centuries." Bryden said, turning to Jibril. "You are not skilled in the art as you lack the touch of the Veil. You need not be here for this lesson, but you may still because of your closeness to Dustriel. Much of what we discuss today might prove useful in the future."

"I understand Ser Bryden." Jibril said, nodding back. "I will stay, if only for Dust."

"Very well then." Bryden said, turning back to his student. "This is the reason why we have always been hesitant when teaching you Dustriel. You devour knowledge and teachings like no one I have ever seen, mastering in days and weeks what many cannot in years and decades. But it is because of this that the arcane path is dangerous for you, you might think yourself a master but know this. One can never truly master the arcane, the notion is impossibility itself and to say so it the height of hubris."

"Truly you exaggerate master, is it not the same as weapon techniques?" Dustriel asked, though something deep within told him they were quite different. His mind reading could take on any shape if he wanted, he was simply told that he was not to try anything beyond the norm.

"No, they are quite different." Bryden replied, holding out his hand as a rune burst to life within it, purple light dancing off of it giving it an ethereal light. Jibril jumped back, a little startled and with a hint of fear in his eyes. "While one can claim that they have mastered a weapon, you will find that our techniques can take on any form as long as the caster wills it. However, I must stress that you only keep with what I teach you and try to keep your telepathy to a minimum; the only reason we allowed you to use it in the first place was because you seemed so attuned to it since you were born."

"Alright." Dustriel said, nodding slowly as he kept his eyes on the glowing rune in his master's hand. "What's the first step then? Where should we start?"  
"The beginning of course." Bryden said, chuckling as he closed his hand, the purple light receding till it was nonexistent. "The first step we take is to find out what kind of affinity for the art that you have."  
"An affinity?" Dustriel asked, confused as he narrowed his eyes in confusion.

"We all have an affinity for the arcane Dustriel." Bryden said, "It can be any concept or notion that you can think of. It defines who we are, a single thought that makes up our entire being. For example, my own is 'Guardian' which is what makes it easier for me to learn the techniques that we use. Old Iohannis himself had the affinity of 'Shielding', that's partially where we derive our name from. It is also the form that our techniques follow. We are the Shields of the River, so we use our power to protect our brothers in combat with barriers as well as protect our minds from those that wish us harm."

"How do you find out your affinity then?" Dustriel asked, interested as he listened. "I doubt that one is simply born knowing what their affinity is."

"Of course not." Bryden said, standing up and gesturing for Dustriel to do the same. "One can tell your affinity by reading the contents of your soul, a technique that every order knows so that we can decide how best to teach our students. I will need you to open your mind to me Dustriel, only then can we know how best to instruct you."

"Alright then," Dustriel said, taking a deep breath and then releasing it. He closed his eyes, concentrating on lowing his guard.

Bryden took his hand and placed it upon his squire's head, his eyes closed as well so as to fully devote himself to his task. His hand bled purple light as he looked deep into Dustriel's soul, seeking what he needed to know.

As Bryden looked into the bright light that was his student's soul, he could not help but marvel how bright it was. While each caster shone brighter than those that did not, like a candle to a flicker of light, Dustriel was a sun in comparison. The fact that he was not blinded shocked the older man. To think that Dustriel held this much potential, he could easily outclass even the founders of old if given the proper instruction.

Bryden looked deep into the light, seeing what exactly made Dustriel into who he was. His hopes, dreams, despairs and fears. All were laid bare before Bryden. He could see the disposition that Dustriel held, the need to analyze everything around him and to scrutinize the motives of those that he interacted with. The desire to understand what drove them, to read their thoughts and emotions as if they were a book that only he could hope to unravel. His keen _Insight _into all, that was central to the kind of person that Dustriel was.

As Bryden began to dig deeper, he saw what looked to be the remnants of an old wound. Bryden was puzzled by this, what could have caused a wound of the soul? Could it have been one of the Others? No, from what Bryden knew if they sank their claws into you then they devoured you, there was nothing left to call the caster themselves. _Then what could it be?_ Bryden thought, looking at it closer.

It seemed like something had tried to carve out a small part of the boy's spirit, to let it fester and pus. For what reason Bryden could not comprehend, however it seemed as if someone had healed the wound. It had left what appeared to be a foreign entity into the lad's soul, seeking to heal the missing part by acting in its stead. But what could have had the strength to try and do such a thing? Bryden was determined to find out.

He probed the entity, seeking to dig deeper into this mystery. That did not seem to be a wise course of action. It seemed to awake, it's focus homed in on him in a moment as it appeared to glare. An emerald eye appeared in Bryden's mind, full of fury and a fierce desire to _Protect_ sprang forth from it. It offered no words, no idle threats, it simply forced the old man out with the same force that he would need to squash a fly. Bryden was flung from the mind scape, the notion to not return was all but unsaid as the being retreated back into Dustriel, the creature nuzzling back into its former position was the last image that Bryden had before his eyes snapped back open.

He gasped for air, scared out of his mind as he looked about him, holding his chest for fear that his heart would jump out. His eyes locked with his student's, gold meeting aged gray, before he could stead himself.

"What happened Master?" Dustriel asked, concern in his eyes. "Are you well? Do you need me to fetch someone?"  
"No, no I'm quite fine." Bryden said, sighing deeply as he sat upon the stone. "I just was not expecting that." He looked to Dustriel again, little amazement in his eyes. "You are a truly blessed child Dustriel."

"Ser?" Dustriel replied, a little confused as he cooked his head to the side.

"You have two affinities boy." Bryden said, chuckling at the look his squire was giving him. "Never heard of that in the entire history of Avalon."

"Ser Bryden, is that true?" Jibril asked, still a little spooked from the current events. It appears that the arcane arts were not to be trifled with as far as he was concerned. "Would that not cause a disruption in someone? I thought you said that an affinity with something that completely defined someone?"

"I did lad, that I did." Bryden said, nodding to the question that Jibril asked. And it was a good one that was brought up. "However, it appears that Dustriel is not a person that can easily be broken down into one thought. Whoever sired him no doubt made that so." He said, thinking of how they had come upon Dustriel all those years ago. There was always something off about the lad, even during those days. As if he knew all the secrets of the universe in those golden orbs of his, ready to share them with the world.

"Then what are they Master?" Dustriel asked, a little shocked at the news. He didn't ask to be this way, but he would count his blessing while he had them. A deeper part of him agreed with that notion, its approval clear to him. "What am I skilled towards in this regard?"  
"Your affinities are for _Insight _and _Protection_, which doesn't surprise me in the least." Bryden said, "Anyone one that knew you knows how protective you are of those around you. That fierce drive to protect what you hold dear is the same heart that drove Ser Iohannis to make our order."

"And Insight?" Dustriel asked, already knowing the answer.

"Lad, you can dig deep into a person's soul and understand them in ways I doubt that they do." Bryden said, his face turning serious once more. "It's a good ability, don't get me wrong, but it's also invasive and can be off putting to others. But if you were to master it, then I doubt that there is nothing that you couldn't understand in this world."

Bryden stood up once more, beckoning the two to do the same. They walked away from the riverbank, going to the center of the clearing so as to have proper room.

"Now, what I am going to teach you is something that we all start out with Dustriel." Bryden said, gesturing for Jibril to move to the side and out of the way. "We'll be spending a good chunk of time on this, the same amount that any other student would no matter how fast you can learn it." Bryden raised his hand, seeing Dustriel about to protest. "This is for your own good, trust me when I say that it is better to master this from the start and then move on to the next one."

Bryden closed his eyes, concentration clear on his face. His hands glowed with ethereal light once more, with a wave he brought it down in front of him, the same motion that one would use to lower a screen. What stood there was a barrier of purple light, it looked fragile and brittle, but the two boys knew that it would not be good to point that out.

"Jibril," Bryden said, looking to the boy, "I want you to shoot at me."

"What?!" Jibril asked, a little startled by the command. If he were to shoot at the knight, then he would surely kill him!

"Do it, you're not going to harm me. This wall can stop any bullet that you lot could make." Bryden said, smirking at the thought of being in danger. "Do it!"

Jibril nodded to the old man, cursing to himself that he was acting like an old fool. He took out his pistol, aiming it dead center at Bryden before pulling the trigger. The round stopped six inches before hitting him, the barrier looking like it had not been fazed at all.

"Was that it, lad?" Bryden asked, chuckling at the dumbfound look on the boy's face.

"Not by a long shot." Jibril said, taking aim again. He shot off the remaining seven rounds in his chamber, each an expert shot that should have hit in the chest and obliterated it. Not a single one got through.

"Now do you see?" Bryden asked, looking to the two shocked boys. "This is the technique that has allowed us to safeguard the Riverlands for centuries. Are you ready to dedicate yourself to it Nuhera?"

"Yes Master." Dustriel said, nodding. If this was what was needed of him, he would do it. He was a proud member of the Shields and he would prove his worth to them.

The three of them spent hours out there, the path of the arcane was not a fast way lest you invoke the wrath of the Others. It was slow, precise, and grueling to learn. It did not matter how many times Dustriel performed the task flawlessly, Bryden would still slow his teachings until he felt that they had spent the allotted time on the task. No matter how much Dustriel wined that he could do it with his eyes closed, Bryden still refused to further his training.

Learning spells should take as long as one needed, even longer till one could safely implement them into combat. 'It is not the one hundred spells that you have done three times that saves you, it is the three that you have done one hundred times that does.' Bryden would always say before redirecting his student back to his task. Still, Dustriel was making progress so it showed that his aptitude was great for it.

Dustriel was looking a little winded by the time that the hour was up, a look of annoyance in his face when he looked up Bryden.

"Alright, that's enough for today." Bryden said, clapping hi hands together. "We'll be doing this for the next few weeks, focusing on your basic barriers. After you learn that then we can look at other techniques but until then we'll meet up here every day." Bryden continued, then looked between the two with a critical eye. "I need not remind you that I expect you two to keep with your martial training, if anything it should be your main priority."

"Yes Ser Bryden." The two boys replied, a tired recycled line that they had spoken in sync. The two looked at one another, cracking a smile at one another.

"Alright, get out of here and cause whatever mischief you two are always up to." The old man replied, leaving the clearing. Jibril was not too far behind, at the last second looking back to his friend who was still sitting on his stone.

"Are you coming Dust?" Jibril asked, "I'm sure that we still have enough time for another smithing contest."

The two had been having a constant competition over their respective craft, claiming that theirs was obviously superior. It had come to the point that they crafted something at least once a week to try and one up the other. Everything it seemed that Dustriel seemed to pull some beautiful blade from his workshop. One week it was a dirk, the next a one-sided longsword, the next an axe that had the look that it came from the icy alps of Hiems. Jibril always responded with different designs for the stereotypical bolt pistol of the Silver Legion. One week he redesigned the chamber to fix eight rounds instead of six, intricately carving it to look like an eight-pointed star that seemed to sparkle. The next he had lengthened the stock to the size of his forearm, depicting a fierce battle between knights on it.

Back and forth the two went, always trying to one up the other and never quite getting a constant winning streak over the other. The two may argue and bicker over it but it was all in good fun, their craftsmen's pride another thing for them to bond over.

"Not today Jibril, I just want to think by myself for a while." Dustriel said, his concentration homed in on something that his companion could not find.

"Alright, I'll see you later then." Jibril said, waving goodbye. It felt a little concern for Dustriel, the things that they had gone over today did not seem like an easy topic to go over. It sacred him if he was honest, he worried what effect that might have on his friend. But he had seen Dustriel do a lot of amazing things so he was not worried, he was confident that whatever happened his friend could overcome it.

Dustriel sat on his stone for a bit, thinking on what Bryden had told him. While he would trust the old man with his life, he did not agree with him on this. He knew that he could handle whatever was thrown at him, he could handle it.

_I wonder if I can and adapt my telepathy_. Dustriel thought, looking down at his hands. He caused them to glow with an emerald light, his power lifting his spirits up. When he used them, it made him feel invincible, like that he could do anything in the world, and nothing could stop him. He wondered how far he could push it, how far was his limit before he couldn't stop. He wanted to know. He wanted, no _needed, _to prove that he belonged here. So, he would push the barrier, show them his strength and let there be hell to pay for anyone that got in the way!

Dustriel stretched his mind out, feeling all the life that was around him. He could feel the insects, their minds chirping like birds, he could feel the life within the greenery of the clearing along with the thoughts of the peaceful minds of the varactyl. Dustriel pushed further than that.  
He could see the thoughts and feelings of the people of Avalon, all like insects as he looked down upon the world. He found it difficult to point out any exact one from this viewpoint, they all merged like a sea of minds and to try to fish one out was akin to throwing a rod into the ocean for a particular fish. But still, Dustriel choose to push forth from Avalon and see what there was to see.

He could see the different worlds that were nearby, seeing the countless minds that he could feel and knowing that there was something beyond Avalon. It seemed daunting to the young squire, the feeling that he was quite tiny in comparison to the universe. But still, he pushed forward and soldiered on. He still had not found his limit.

It took him some time, however long he did not know as time ceased to be a factor in the grand scheme of things, until he came across something strange. He felt what looked like a ship of sorts, though he could obviously tell that it was not populated by humans. The beings felt…older for a lack of a better term, like they had been there since time immemorial and would still be there when he was but dust. He watched the ship for a bit, a giant beacon of light that he could not pinpoint the source of its brightness, before he continued on. It was getting hard to maintain his concentration, but he still kept on.

As he continued to cast his mind out, he felt something…_familiar_ try to brush up against him. It was giant, enormous even, a great golden light that seemed to encompass everything that it touched. Its great warmth seemed to offer sanctuary to all that would accept it, wishing to bring everything into it and shield him from harm. It reached out to him, offering a friendly hand out to offer a place in the serenity.

It scared him. A voice from deep within spoke to him, warning him that he could not allow this entity to ensnare him. That to do so would be death, no a fate much worse than death. Dustriel did not recognize this part of but he knew that whatever it was he could trust it.

Dustriel did not know why but he did know that whatever this thing was, he could not allow it to catch him. He did not understand why, how could something so magnificent not be something worth investigating? But Dustriel did not go against his instincts, ducking back whenever the being tried to reach out and touch him. He went past it, a little sweat pouring down his brow as he was reaching his limits.

Dustriel stopped when he felt another strong presence, this one much more grounded and more level than the one before. He did not know why but he felt that they had met sometime in the past, that the two had encountered each other and that he could trust this one. If that was what his instinct said then Dustriel had no need to question it, believing that there was no harm in trying to communicate with this being.

_H-Hello?_ Dustriel asked, hoping that the being could understand him.

Malcador was going about his business, seeing to the needs of the newly developing Imperium of Man. It was a great deal of administration work that one does not always account the amount of paperwork that does into war. Supply demands, treasury reports, etcetera etcetera. It was all the same, combining into the giant amount of organizing and planning that was left to the Administratum. However, Malcador would not complain. To do so would mean admitting that this trivial work had gotten the better of him (if only to small degree). No, he would make sure that everything would continue working as Revelation needed it to and the future of humanity would be secured with it.

Malcador felt a presence touch his mind, his shields raising in a moment as he snapped to attention. His ancient eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the entity, recalling that it was slightly familiar to him, but he could not place its origins.

_H-Hello? _The entity stated, a little nervousness could be felt in its voice. Malcador could remember another child that had responded with the same fear, his eyes narrowed as he felt the similarity and recognized them all too well.

_Child? Is that you?_ Malcador replied, a little shocked. He had thought them scattered to the four winds, to have news that another had survived was beyond terrific news to him. He knew that Revelation had been in contact with the XVth son for some time (Magnus if he recalled correctly).

_I am not a child!_ The entity replied, Malcador could feel the annoyance radiating from that statement. Clearly, he had touched a nerve. _I am a squire! A future knight of Avalon!_

_Forgive me then, ser squire._ Malcador replied, chuckling at the pout that he could feel forming on his counterpart's face. Say what you will of the Primarchs, but it appears that they still act as their age suggested. _Do you have a name, or should I just call you Squire?_

_My name is Dustriel Nuhera, son of Catherine Nuhera, the Lord Bridge Knight of the Riverlands._ The voice, Dustriel, responded. His pride something that Malcador could tell was good and honest, not like the egos of some of the pompous nobles that he had to deal with daily. A good change of pace if he had to say so. _Do you have a name sir? You know it is quite rude to ask someone their name without first giving your own._

_You must forgive me again young Dustriel. _Malcador said, going through his stack of papers as he did so. If he was going to have this conversation, then he might as well work while he did so. _My name is Malcador, Malcador the Sigilette. How do you do today young man?_

_Quite well, and yourself?_ Dustriel responded, his voice a little chipper. Malcador could image the small head nod going along with that response.

_I am doing well, all things considered._ Malcador replied, before getting onto what was causing him anxiety over this conversation. How did the child learn to reach out so far? Someone must be teaching the boy and that could cause who knows how many problems. _How did you reach me child? It must have been difficult, contacting me on the other side of the galaxy._

_It was not really any trouble at all._ Dustriel replied, feeling a little proud of himself. Malcador could feel confidence raising in the child's mind which prompt another chuckle. _My Master said that it was dangerous to use my powers in different ways, I just wanted to prove to him that I could._

_Your Master sounds like a wise man young one. _Malcador said, pulling another logistic form as he went over it. Using psychic powers in unorthodox ways could be dangerous so he could understand the concern. _While I am glad to speak with you at length, I believe it prudent that your father be informed._

_You are mistake sir; I have no Father._ Dustriel said, a little sadness bleeding into his voice. _I only have Mother, she's more than enough for me._

_I believe it is you that is mistaken young one._ Malcador said, sensing the confusion in his counterpart. _You do have a Father, a great Father that is everything that a child could want in a parent. You may not remember but I was there when you were but an unborn child, still reaching out with your mind and sharing all that you had learned with me._

_T-Truly?_ Dustriel replied, a little unnerved by the thought. He knew that he was quite different from his fellows, but to think that he was skilled even before being born was startling to him. To hear it confirmed by this man, Malcador, only cemented it to him.

_Yes, truly._ Malcador replied, not surprised by the shock that followed. To learn that you were the son of such a being as the Emperor, it would shock anyone let alone a child. _I'm sure that you encountered him before you spoke to me._

_No sir, the only thing that I saw was this great golden light. _Dustriel replied, apologetic in tone. Truly that light could not be one individual, even the ship that he had seen which glowed with infinite light was not comprised of just one person. It was made of an untold number of minds acting as one, a marvel which still stunned the young man.

Malcador chuckled at the response, it seemed that this conversation had given him more opportunities to smile than he had in years. _That was your Father child, he is quite magnificent wouldn't you agree._

_H-How is that possible? _Dustriel asked, shock clear in his voice. To think that such a thing had sired him. He did not know what to think of that, this all seemed so unreal to him.

_I shall not bore you with the details. _Malcador replied, scanning another sheet and setting it down once he was done with it. It was not his place, nor did he think it prudent that the child knew. As long as the facts were told then the in between did not matter. _But do trust me when I say that he is your Father. I could ask him to speak with you if you wished. I know that one of your brothers has been in regular contact with him._

_NO! _Dustriel replied, the loud and unexpected reply ringing clear through the Sigilette's mind. Apparently, that was an avenue explored a little too early. _I don't want to! It's scary._

_Scary?_ Malcador asked, the ringing still quite clear in his mind. _How can such a bright being be scary to you Dustriel? Surely such a man would be one worth speaking to, however I will not force you if you do not wish to. But at some point, you will have to, it would be rude to ignore for a son to ignore his Father's wishes._

_If this being is my Father, then who are you to me?_ Dustriel asked, the terror slowly leaving his mind. He did not know why the thought caused him such fear, he only knew that it did. Perhaps there was no reason to heed it? He would have to think on it.

_I suppose, you could call me Uncle Malcador_. The old man replied, not putting much thought into the response. He had heard that children referred to the friends of their parents as aunts or uncles, it seemed appropriate that he take the title.

_Alright, Uncle Malcador._ Dustriel replied, a smile gracing his lips. He had never had an uncle, the closest he had was Old Man Bryden and he was more like a grandfather than an uncle.

_Now, what were you doing before you decided to contact me child?_ Malcador asked, getting to the crux of the issue. No child just randomly calls someone halfway across the galaxy for no reason (and if they did, they deserved a good swat for the stupidity).

_Oh, I was practicing my spells._ Dustriel replied, happily. If his Uncle was this good at telepathy, perhaps he could help him with his other techniques? He hoped so.

_Your spells? _Malcador asked, a little worried. To leave a young psyker unsupervised and practicing their gift, it was borderline suicidal. A psyker should be monitored at all time and given the proper instruction so that they could safely use their powers. _What kind of spells were you working with today?_

_Oh, this was my first lesson!_ Dustriel replied, happy to share what he had learned. _We were learning how to make barriers, Master Bryden said it was the first step in learning abjuration._

_Abjuration huh?_ Malcador asked, a little relieved but keeping the majority of his concerns. While it was not as dangerous as say pyromancy, it was still disturbing that one of the Primarchs was learning the art without one of them there to safeguard them. If the Enemy knew, Malcador shuddered to think about it. _Well, that is a good and noble discipline to learn. How did you do?_

_Great! _Dustriel said, Malcador could feel the satisfaction coming off of him. _I learned how to successfully cast it without fail, oh I also learned that I had two affinities!_

_Affinities?_ Malcador asked, a little confused. While he could understand the concept that one might be inclined to work better with one discipline over another (he took better to telepathy as opposed to biomancy for example). But to have two of them? The only person that he knew that showed a natural aptitude to more than one was Revelation. Though Dustriel was his son so that might have factored in. _What were they?_

_Insight and Protection! It made making barriers so much easier!_ Dustriel said.

The insight Malcador could understand, the boy was designed to be a watchman so he would need to be able to investigate and uncover hidden truths. But protection? That one threw the old man for a loop; how would he have gotten an affinity for that? He would have to bring that up with Revelation at some point.

_I see._ Malcador said, pondering the conundrum that he found himself in. He did not like the thought of Dustriel practicing his talents without proper instruction; from what he had heard of the boy's teacher that he had many doubts regarding his oversight. However, Malcador could do next to nothing in regard to stopping the boy. He doubted that the voice of an old man halfway across the galaxy would be able to coax him to stop. But to do nothing would leave the boy exposed to whatever horrors the denizens of the Warp would inflict upon the child if they sank their claws into him.

_Dustriel, from now on I want you to come to me if you have any questions regarding your…'spells'. _Malcador said, a little disgusted with the term. It implies a sense of mysticism to the craft that did not sit well with him. But he did not allow that to show, if that was what the boy wished to refer to them as so be it.

_Huh? But I already have Ser Bryden, I doubt that there's much that you could tell me that he couldn't._ Dustriel replied, a little confusion clear in his thoughts. How could someone who didn't know their ways profess to be able to guide him in their regard.

_Trust me child, I have lived far longer than your Ser Bryden._ Malcador said and_ trust me when I say that I know things that he could not._ It would do well to keep an eye on him for now. Who knows what the boy could get up to if left to his own devices?

_Also, do not under any circumstance try and contact anyone else._ Malcador said, his focused reaffirmed. The boy was lucky to have contacted him and not someone else, if his conversation with Dustriel showed anything then it was that he was far too trusting of others. Not something that a psyker skilled in telepathy should be.

_If you say so Uncle._ Dustriel replied, a little downcast. He had wanted to explore to his heart's content, as a knight errant might on Avalon, but he trusted the Sigilette's word. If he said it wasn't safe, then it wasn't safe. _I swear on my honor that I shall do as you ask._

_Where did you say that you were from?_ Malcador asked, pulling a map out from under his pile of papers. If he had a general idea where he was then he could direct the XI to hopefully get there. It wouldn't be for some time, but it was a start. He picked up his quill and directed his thoughts to pinpointing Dustriel's location.

He could feel the pull of the young Primarch's mind from the west, knowing that he must be somewhere in Segmentum Pacificus. Malcador dip his quill in the ink for a bit, waiting for his companion to answer.

_I hail from Avalon, the world of knights!_ Dustriel replied, pride clear in his voice.

Malcador wrote down the name in the southwestern corner of the map. He had to chuckle a bit at the name, reminded of an old story (no doubt where the name came from).

_What's so funny?_ Dustriel asked, a little angry at Malcador's laughter. He was proud of his home; the noble world of Avalon was one in which true knights could fight and prove their worth to one another in a chivalric manner. To hear it mocked boiled his blood.

_Forgive me child, it was not meant to be a slight against you or your world._ Malcador said, fighting down the chuckle that threatened to emerge. Whoever thought to name a world of knights Avalon was truly unoriginal, the tale from which the name came from was over thirty thousand years old and to hear it dug up again. He simply could not keep his composure. _I was just thinking of where the name Avalon came from._

_Oh?_ Dustriel asked, a little intrigued. _Do tell, I am always willing to listen to a good story._

He was always badgering the older knights for tales of their heroic deeds, what actions prompted their brothers to give each other their titles. His favorite would always be the tale of Ser Bryden, how he had thought a dragon turtle of the Riverlands and nearly lost his life. The tortoise from which the Shields got their name could grow to be as large as a varactyl and twice as territorial, the only reason that the old man had survived was because he had latched onto the great beast with his blade as the beast bit into him with its massive teeth. The battle a contest of endurance between the two, the only reason that Bryden had won because of his skill in the arcane arts allowed him to great a barrier stronger than the turtle's shell. After which the knights that had heard it said he had latched on with the same ferocity as the beast, naming him after it in his honor.

_As you wish child._ Malcador replied, telling the lad of a time long since passed. Of a knight king who had proved himself the embodiment of chivalry and honor, of his knights who sat around his round table. He told him of the mighty blade that the king wielded named Excalibur, of the sheathe (the true treasure given to him by the Lady of the Lake) which was named Avalon after the paradise that only the king could see.

Dustriel listened to it with wonder in his eyes, this story would be one that he would carry with him throughout the rest of his life. The story of King Arthur and of the brave Knights of the Round Table.

**So, what'd you all think? This is a good introduction to how psychic powers are treated on Avalon- there is a strict set of disciplines that are passed down from master to squire and you are not meant to deviate from them. EVER. It is generally looked down on, to the point that you will be shut down for doing so. I always felt that it was weird that no one ever pointed out that a world like Prospero or Avalon, a world of psykers, would be completely covered in daemons in a couple years (at best). Someone please tell me in the comments if Magnus ever mentioned this in one of his novels, if anyone mentioned it would probably be him.**

**Also, when I went back and looked at my old chapters I noticed that I accidently slipped who Dustriel's savior is. I know that it was kind of obviously but still, the notion of mystery I wanted was gone. I'll have to go back and make a few changes, thank you for not blurting it out or mentioning it in the comments. I appreciate it.**

**Now, onto a few footnotes:**

**Titles: The notions of titles within the Eleventh Legion has always been one of question. While most Astartes of rank possess one, each meant to symbolize some deed or characteristic of the individual, the manner in which they are gained is strange. Ser Dustriel has always been of the opinion that a title must be gifted to someone, not taken. For an Astartes to give themselves a title is seen as arrogant and pompous, the notion being that a title only means something when it is given by one of their brothers a key aspect of how they are viewed by their fellows. According to the Primarch, not even he took up the title of King as it was given to him by his loyal followers after the Battle of Woodhaven. **

**Trades in the Eleventh Legion: Contrary to the other Legions, Astartes of the Eleventh are encouraged to pursue a trade outside of warcraft. It was Ser Dustriel who stated that 'A man should have something outside of battle to occupy his time with'. This has led many of the Knights of Avalon to pursue their personal interests, inspired by the legendary smithing rivalry of Ser Dustriel and Ser Jibril. Be it smithing, writing, the arts, culinary, as long as they have a trade it works to remind these proud men that they are still beat with the heart of humanity. However, there has been a trend of certain trades being more prevalent in some companies over others (the Seventh Company encourages poetry and art, the Third favors mastery of machinery, the Second gunsmithing, etc.).**

**Now, onto the questions/comments!**

**Austan123: I once again must think you for your kind words. I am still a little new at this, but it is comments like these that keep me going. Hope that you like this chapter man, though unfortunately it was mostly a dialogue between Malcador and Dustriel (one of several in the future).**

**LordSolarMathius: I will say that while Martin did inspire me a bit, he was fortunately not the only one. I've always held a soft spot for the knights of yore and have always daydreamed of them (even read a good bit of the original King Arthur poems and works). I will try to stay as true to the original spirit of chivalry, but it will be a little different as Avalon is vastly different from our world.**

**York52: I thank you for your kind words, but I have some bad news. Knight's Honor is the first novel in Dustriel's story and the main focus of it will be Dustriel taking over Avalon throughout the War of Knights. We will be here for quite a while as Avalon is paramount to the type of person that Dustriel develops into. If I were to simply cut that then a lot of what makes Dustriel who he is would make no sense to you. One of my personal favorite relationships he has is with the Gladiator King during the Great Crusade, remember me mentioning that Dustriel will react in different ways than in canon? Trust me, you will want to understand why he does what he does during their first meeting.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey guys, what is going on? Know that I am cutting it a bit close this month, but finals have been kicking my ass right now. Good news is that I will still be graduating this semester so take that COV-19! You cannot stop me from achieving my dreams! Onto more important matters, I think that this will be the last training chapter (thank God), after this one we will start seeing the groundwork for the War of Knights!**

**As always, thank my pal Mojo for listening to my dumbass rant about shit. He is always a good guy to talk to and if you guys want some more Warhammer stuff, I know that he is currently writing a few.**

**On with the show!**

(Jibril POV)

Jibril loosed a sigh as he looked out upon the far-flung fields. Say what you will but watch duty on the River was among the worst jobs that one could find themselves assigned to.

Oh, it is an important task, do not misunderstand him. If the Shields were any less vigilant then their lands would have long since been ransacked and pillaged for loot. It was due in large part to that of their strict guard over their holdings that hardly anyone had every gotten in without being properly screened. The closest anyone had ever come was the raid that the Golden Helms had struck all those years ago and even then, it had cost them. Both in a good portion of their forces as well as their Grandmaster.

"Dust, I'm bored!" Jibril complained, standing guard on the other side of the gate. The adolescent had his hand resting on the small wall overlooking the river, leaning heavily on his spear. His silver eyes were looking up at the giant standing beside him, sheer boredom shining in his stare. "Entertain me."

"There's not much that I can tell you Jibril." The giant replied, shrugging one of his shoulders noncommittally. The act causing much of his armor to clank together, the noise driving the young Shield crazier still. Ever since his friend had hit his last growth spurt, the Shield's armories no longer had any suits of power armor that would fit his broad bulk. Dustriel had been forced to make the armor himself, much to the consternation and silent awe of the grizzled smiths.

The suit itself had been styled too look like a tortoise's leathery body, a light green shimmer rising off of the armor as the sun reflected off of it. It had taken the boy the better part of a day locked within the crafthalls to get the armor to look right in his eyes, gilding the steel to a proper mirror shine as well as a whole hour dedicated to making sure that the pauldron that displayed his sigil did proper justice.

The shinning emblem of the spear, Gae Fíor-radharc, the signature weapon of the Mistress of the Shadowlands, emblazoned proud upon his shoulder. It was said in the oldest tales that it was she guards the realm of the honored dead of Avalon until they are needed again. Jibril knew that his friend did not put much stock in the belief, but the Witch Queen was someone that was well respected on Avalon and thus bearing her weapon as his sigil should lend him some credence. Not a small thing in the halls of the nobles.

From what the young legionnaire had learned, the ancestral weapon of House Nuhera was based off of Gae Fíor-radharc and had been passed down throughout the ages as the signature weapon of their house. When Catherine had left as a child, she had taken the weapon with her instead of his uncle and had wielded it with great skill ever since. When Dust's grandfather had learned the truth behind the incident, he had demanded the spear be returned to him only to be rebutted. The audacity of such a request had rankled at the young knight when he had first heard of it, the injustice of such an act.

By what right did the man have to take a weapon that his daughter had used with greater skill than he ever did and with greater cause?

Surrounding the spear were the numerous runes that he had learned throughout his tutelage under his sometimes tutor. Malcador had made the young man swear never to tell anyone of his existence nor to rely on his arcane powers. The only reason that he taught Dustriel was because 'Runes are less likely to go wild; they bind your instruction down and allow them to flow in a clearly defined manner. Any simpleton just has to write out what they want and will it to happen.' Dustriel was thankful for the man though he had to explain the runes off when asked by his Mother as well as his persistent, stating that he had come to enjoy the ancient tales that spoke of such things. Of heroes and gods using the power of runes to fuel their strength, of the use of geas to power a man beyond his breaking limits. Dustriel did not believe that he fooled them entirely, though the two did not push him about it either.

"Well, can you at least think of something to talk about?" The adolescent asked, looking over at his friend, his eyes pleading for release from his boredom. "Have you seen any beautiful women lately? Anyone caught your eye yet?"

The giant gave his friend a wry look, thinking of the ridiculous nature of the question. He was a damned Shield of the River, not some minstrel that seeked to plow everything that he saw afield! Besides, he was much too busy with his duty to be chasing maidens around for the simple fun of it.

"I do not know what you could possibly mean." Dustriel replied, glancing out towards the landscape once more. The distant churn of the river and the milling of the wind drifting across his senses. "I think it more prudent we focus on getting our knighthoods first then worrying about who we shall marry."

"*Hmph* Who said anything about marriage?" Jibril huffed dramatically, a smile splitting open upon his face. "I just want to have a little fun, is all. No harm in it."

"No harm? Jibril, do you realize how many illegitimate children are begotten because of such thoughts?" His stoic companion asked, glaring at the smiling legionnaire with no small amount of scorn.

He had long grown up seeing just how the sons and daughters termed 'Rivers' were treated by some of his brothers when they first arrive at the gates cold and desperate; spitting at them and jeering because of something wholly outside of their control. It made him sick to his stomach to think that a man of honor such as Jibril could ever harbor such thoughts with no notions of consequence. The folly of such beliefs.

'That's how the nobles are, not worrying about consequences because they normally aren't the ones who have to pay the price.'

"Apologies, Dust. I can see that I've upset you." Jibril replied, looking at how his friend seemed to be upset and mollifying his expression. That had always been Dustriel's problem, he mused. The giant always worrying about what happened to others and never about having any fun for himself. A noble notion, but difficult at times. "But even you must admit, some of the maidens have been taking note of you my friend." He winced under the stony glower, changing tactics with all the grace of his lineage. "Fine, fine! Not just for the fun. Have you put any thought into who you might get married off to, then?"

Far from the most subtle of his efforts, but the attempt as conciliation was gratifying.

"I've heard that the White Rose has been making waves back in the land of Gwent." Dustriel thought aloud, his glare narrowing as he looked ahead. Even from such a distance his eyes could pick out a small group of peasants heading in their direction, grime faced men brandishing rusted hoes and scythes aloft in white-knuckled grasps.

'Could be troublesome.' Dustriel shifted his hand along his glaive as he readied himself, feeling the texture of the weapon through his gauntlets as muscles tense and his senses clear.

"The White Rose?" The legionnaire asked, a little curious and wholly obvious to the oncoming guests. His mind caught in other matters.

What kind of person would it take to inspire curiosity in the giant's mind? It had to be someone of note, no doubt a beauty that the young Nuhera could wrestle from a fiendish lord or some other nonsense story that Dustriel seemed inspired by.

"Apparently she has inherited her honored mother's skill with the blade." Dustriel admitted, going off on a tangent as his thoughts were more concerned with the issue before him. Noting the agitation in their movements, their emotions balanced on a knife's edge. The forces were getting closer to them as he'd thought, though the young man could already see that another force was swiftly trailing behind the first, a glint of distant metal... Dustriel gestured for Jibril to look out, seeing his friend's brows rise in alarm as he finally seemed to notice the gathering crowd.

The two nodding to one another, moving from their post after signaling to the others that something was amiss.

"What about her beauty, man?" Jibril asked, continuing on with their conversation. There was no saying that they could not do both of course, and there was the fun of such a topic from the giant's own lips. "Is she a looker? A fair soul to steal even the famous Knight of Chastity's iron heart?" He teased, enjoying egging his friend. Truly, there was no better pleasure in the world than making Dustriel uncomfortable, the man's reactions were always the best.

"Hmm, from what I have gathered she has hair the white of freshly fallen snow." The giant stated, his focus more on the matter at hand. "As well as the bluest eyes that one could find in the land, blue as the clearest skies at harvest. Combine that with her pale skin and she looks to be one of the Fae of old. Truly a sight to see...from what I have heard, at least. So yes, a 'looker'."

Jibril's grin grew wider as he heard Dust continue on. It appeared that someone had finally at long last caught his friend's absent attentions. The pair would need to arrange a trip to Gwent as soon as they are well and truly knighted, with haste. With stories such as those floating about, it would need to be so lest someone snag his friend's beloved out from under him. The young warrior could not help another chuckle at his stalwart friend's expense.

In truth it was good to find someone that could capture his friend's eye, especially if said individual was a woman. He had always worried about Dustriel, hoping that someone would come along and inspire the man like something out of a bard's tale. Now, he would just have to make sure that it happened.

With tidings of affection aired, the two squires continued on their way with hands on their weapons as they approached the would-be assailants. The first thing that they noted was that the group was far too disorganized to have had anything approaching formal training. The main body seemed to be a jumbled mess with only a few of the more abled men acting as tangents, encircling the group in some showy display that at closer range proved more pitiable than intimidating. More pressing, however, was the fact that most of them seemed to be quite feeble and not suited to combat at all.

The old, the women and children, the sick. Jibril's eyes widened as he realized the truth of their situation. They were not facing down a group of brigands seeking to plunder their lands. They were looking down a group of serfs seeking refuge. Jibril could see the sense of relief when the group looked upon the two of them, mixed with a shocking amount of terror.

What would peasants have to fear from knights, the protectors of their livelihoods as well as their homes? It made no sense of him. It gave him pause.

"Halt, what business do you have?" Dustriel asked, putting on the persona of the 'stoic guardian' as Jibril liked to call it. He schooled his features behind his helm, no doubt looking intimidating in his full plate armor. Combine that with his large size and the squire could understand why some of the group were looking at him in equal amounts of awe and fear.

"W-We heard that the Riverlands was a safe place, m'lord sire. Free from the warring and such." One of their number said, stepping forward from the imagined safety of the group. Dustriel's eyes widened as he took the figure in. It was a man, though to call him such would be almost misleading. The weathered individual before him must have been in his sixties at the minimum, a thing hard to manage on the war-torn world. He could gather from the minds of the serfs that he was their mayor and thus the obvious choice for a spokesman. Such would explain the courtesies, at the least. "W-We would request passage into your lands, if that would be at all possible?"

"While it is true that Lord Amberton is a good and just lord to his people." Dustriel started, looking among the scared faces of the crowd. Jibril was staring at them as well, his silver eyes darting back to him every so often. "You are not of his lands, nor beholden of his noble patronage. Thus, I cannot guarantee your safety beyond this gate."

"But sire please!" The mayor cried out, terror in his voice. "If you don't help us we will be killed! Please, have mercy on us! We'll do anything!"

"And by what right do you demand entry?" Dustriel asked, his blank face well shown through the tone of his voice. "I can see that you come bearing arms, how am I to know that you do not flee from trouble that you would have run amuck in our lands?"

The mayor flinched back as if physically stuck, looking a bit taken back. "I assure you ser knight that I mean only the best for my people. I swear that I would never seek to put you or your lands in any danger, please if you turn us away, we shall surely perish!"

Dustriel hummed a bit as he took the trembling figure in, looking back to the second group that was chasing the serfs. Jibril could tell right away from the golden shine of their armor to the well-made adornments that sat upon their varactyl mounts just who the pursuers were.

"Golden Helms, what do they want with this lot?" The silver clad squire asked, crossing his arms as he narrowed his eyes at the knights in distaste.

He had heard enough about them that he knew that they would have to have a damn fine reason for showing their faces around their territory. While the Riverlands were only truly passed the Iron River the other knight orders knew that the area surrounding it that lay in Autumna was neutral ground. He would have to hear what that lot had to say lest he risk provoking the ire of their lords.

The gathering group of peasants looked ready to lash out and try to overtake them if the opportunity presented itself. Dustriel narrowed his eyes as he stepped forward, pushing past the crowd so as to insert himself between the two groups. "Jibril, mind our visitors while I go and converse with our fellow knights." He said, nodding at his friend who eagerly returned the gesture.

"Of course, they'll be safe with me." Jibril responded, his carefree demeanor and cheerful tone of voice doing wonders for the crowd who relaxed at his word. The mayor sighed a bit as he looked on with hope, praying to the spirits that they would make it through this ordeal. The giant however could not be yet so certain...

* * *

(Dustriel POV)

"Halt, what business do you have here good sers?" Dustriel asked, looking at the assembled group. They appeared alarmed to see him, no doubt they had heard tales of the Shields and their quest for vengeance against their ranks for what had been done to them. Good, such memories will with any hope make them far more willing to tell the truth. Dustriel gave the appearance of relaxing, though kept his hand on his glaive in case he needed to draw it quickly.

"Good day to you, ser Shield." One of the Helms called back, his mount loping forward as he waved a hand in greeting. The knight was fairly handsome, with short blonde hair and a smile that seemed sure to steal the hearts of maidens in his lands but did little to ease the tension. "I am Ser Rainier, of the Golden Helms of Autumna as I am sure you can surmise." He eased in the saddle; his head held high though it was clear from his stance he was in no way ignorant to the perceptions of this arrival. "Forgive us this interruption, my brothers and I are just here to collect some wayward serfs. Apparently, they believed that they could get away without paying the proper taxes owed their betters. Couple that with how the audacity to steal from us, and I am sure you can understand what best needs be done in this situation."

Dustriel raised a brow, lip quirking as he looked back at the peasants who looked for all the world scared and worried, as they ought to be.

"Please, we were starving!" The mayor cried out, fear prevalent as it bubbled up inside of him and finally presented itself. "You took all of our young men for your battles! There was none left to till the fields! Nothing for us to either eat nor to give up lest we all starve! We had no choice!"

"Why, of course you did." Ser Rainier replied coolly, cruelty laced with his words along with his smile gave off quite the menacing expression. "Rather than be troublesome, you could have simply died. It is not as though any would miss you lot. You are fucking peasants; I could simply pick any other village when we were done with you if I wished more lowborn levies. But no, no you had to lead us on this merry chase, and for that I assure you, worm, I will make you regret going against those you should serve with pride." He finished, seeking to step forward only to be blocked by the massive armored figure in front of him.

Dustriel narrowed his eyes at the man, he would not give him the satisfaction of calling him a knight. Knights protect the weak, they are good and just men who protect their people from harm rather than inflicting it upon them. No, these men were no knights. They were filthy brigands and curs, and he would treat them as such.

"I suggest that you leave, Rainier." Dustriel replied, his golden eyes piercing deep into the man's soul as he searched through his mind and sought something that would redeem the man. But there was nothing to be found. This man had no remorse in his heart for what he had done to these people and no doubt what he planned to do. It made his blood boil, his muscles burning with fire plumbed throughout his veins. "These people are underneath my protection and you would be a fool to try and push this any further than it must."

"And who are you to tell me what to do?" Ser Rainier retorted, dropping the façade that was his grin in exchange for a hateful scowl. "You're just some filthy Shield, a group of naïve idealists that we should have wiped out just like your idiotic grandmaster!"

"My name is Dustriel Nuhera, son of Catherine of the Faint Smile." Dustriel responded, his eyes narrowed even further. "And you would do well to watch your tone when you address my namesake. He was a good man, a just and worthy soul, unlike your cowardly Ser Cadmus and if you don't leave then you will endure the same fate as he." He said, pulling his glaive out and marking a line in the dirt. "Pass this line, and I cannot guarantee your safety. This I swear." Dustriel said, his tone bleak.

The dozen Golden Helms turned to one another, eleven laughing as the last one looked cautious and moved towards the back. Dustriel could tell that the last was much younger than the others, from his stature and demeanor he was most likely one of the knight's squire.

A smart lad, smarter than his superiors at the least.

"To hell with your idle threats Shield!" Rainier cried as he and the other men moved to advance, pulling out his own blade and trying to push past the giant. "I do not take orders from the likes of you on what I should do with what is mine! To hell with you, I say!"

Rainier's mount landed on the line, snarling as it charged, only to be beheaded in a millisecond. The arrogant knight's eyes widened; he had not even seen the man move let alone draw his glaive in a spinning arc of flickering steel! The beast's massive frame collapsed in a sprawl of slack muscle and scale, pinning the knight to the ground who struggled to free himself.

* * *

(Jibril POV)

Jibril's eyes widened as he stepped to get to his friend's side. If he did not hurry, then surely Dustriel would die! The giant was good, there was no doubt of that, but even the most skilled man would be killed fighting eleven mounted knights of greater years! Jibril pulled his revolver from his hip in a practiced motion, lining up his shot and firing, hoping to at least distract a few to help relieve some of the attention off of his friend.

There was no need.

* * *

(Dustriel POV)

Dustriel swept his glaive across another one of the knights, raising his shield up to his left almost dismissively when another tried to stab him, curbing the blow as if it had struck a fortress wall and not a thing of flesh. His opponent's eyes widened in disbelief. The lad should not have been able to notice his strike, but he mysteriously knew where he would attack.

_Witchcraft!_ The knight thought, the last thing going through his head as he saw the giant's glaive sweep towards his neck and then nothing.

His killer's pupils snapped up from the disembodied head, shrinking as he took stock of the rest of his opponents. Their positions and their armament, the conditions of man and rider in the distribution of weight and scale, the fear in their minds as sweat pricked their pores and met the air in a sour reek. All of this and more in the time it took the lot of them to gasp.

Seven remained, three having already died by his hand. Another's brains ejected from his body by the accuracy of Jibril's splendid shot, cored through the slit in his helm. Four would be upon him in a second, his golden eyes skirting to the right, tossing his shield aside as he flexed his off hand with a low whine of metal on leather. This would be too easy, the choreography of the battle writing itself abroad already in his mind's eye. Now all that remained was the execution.

The squire turned to the two that were coming at him from the right, unable to help an awed smirk as each moved in exact tempo to his expectations. He could at least appreciate that the knights knew how to coordinate their attacks, no doubt the many years that they had fought together ingraining within them instinctive knowledge of what their fellows would do. Unfortunate it would do them little good, killing peasants and serfs was a lot different than fighting a true knight of Avalon let alone one such as he.

Swiping up his glaive, he caught two of their swords in a loose parry. He opened his palm up to the other two, an emerald barrier of luminous crackling force forming which caught them off balance. A trick with more show than substance, exactly as intended. The giant withdrew his blade, swinging it in a complete circle. The four mounted knights fall to the ground, a deep cut across all of their chests oozing crimson upon the green grass.

Addressing his surroundings once more, he noticed the last three homing in on Jibril. The easier prey in their minds, falling back on instinct. That would not do. He hurried his pace, running full force to aid his shield brother in battle.

* * *

(Jibril POV)

Jibril had knocked one of the knights in the head with his revolver as the man had made to thrust at him, swiping him across the throat for the effort while he was dazed. He forced himself not to dwell on the dying man, too preoccupied with the men still doing their utmost to kill him.

Even so, it was hard not to be awed by the skill with which Dustriel used to dismantle those seven knights. It had left him feeling inadequate when compared to his own efforts, for reasons utterly inane but painfully apparent. He had always suspected that his friend was holding back, but to see the large gap in their potential still shocked him as he was able to perform feats that he thought impossible.

Blocking another one of the knights' blade, he staggered back knowing that he was at a disadvantage. While talented with his sword that did not mean that he could stare down a mounted knight on equal footing with feet upon the ground. He would have to think, to improvise, to overcome. As this was going through his head, Jibril heard his ally cry out. An angry thunderous sound unlike any he had heard the man make in all the years he had known him, a thing felt in the chest that could rattle bone and render insides to chilled slurry. Something powerful, utterly inhuman yet unmistakably so.

He could see the fear writ in the face of his opponent, knew it too for he felt much the same himself in the face of that fury. But he had the advantage, he still had mind enough to act. And so, with the Helm letting his guard down for a second, the silvery eyed young man shot him full in the chest and clear from the saddle with his revolver.

Looking up, he was just in time to catch sight of Dustriel bashing stove the last one's head in with the man's own shield. Helm and skull both folding and popping about the rim of the bulwark entire, the young knight having ripped the aegis free straps and all as the man made an attempt to strike him from behind only to hurl it end over end with the force of a cannonade. The Helm's varactyl ambling on its way, it's now mostly headless rider flopping sickeningly in the saddle a few heartbeats more before tumbling into the dust and slurry beneath.

And then, finally, there was a kind of silence if one broken by the rasp of his own heavy breaths and the baying of forlorn beasts.

He certainly had no notion of what to feel when eyes met his friend. The giant's blade and the gauntlets of his armor drenched liberally in blood, all the while with maddened...no, almost exhilarated look not quite so hidden by his helm as the young man found he might have liked.

* * *

(Dustriel POV)

Dustriel blinked at the state of what had swiftly become a battlefield, in truth a little surprised.

Mother had always claimed that battle was one of the hardest things that one could do. That taking a man's life was something to tear the heart apart and could cripple even the most skilled of knights under its weight. But in that moment, knowing that he had killed these men, that they would have tortured and killed innocent people. Dustriel could only feel justified in that moment.

More than that, it had all been so...so simple. The Golden Helms had aggressed, he had merely responded in kind just as he had warned. And in the moment, during the killing, he had felt something deep within the core of his being. A stirring imperative that naught but those earliest efforts on the practice fields, before he had mastered both himself and the tools he had been trained to wield, had elicited. A thing that had been simmering in the shadows since with every easy victory and play at true combat, hinted at but never attained.

He had smelled the blood and sweat so thick he could taste it on his tongue, heard the thunder of men's hearts all around him both the enemy and friend while his own had pulsed ever so slowly, barely strained with the effort. And that too was a discovery, he himself was barely even phased with only the barest patina of sweat along his brow. If pressed, he knew in that instant he could have gone on to slay all the more for however long would be required. He almost craved the challenge, another ten, another hundred let them come...more so.

That more than anything these men had offered in the last minute scared him.

What man does not regret taking the life of another? No matter what, that should be hard should it not? To think that these men had brothers and sisters like him, lives and responsibilities that would never be again. Dustriel would have to think more on this.

"T-thank you, ser." The mayor coughed, needing to repeat himself a second time. Shaking in his boots as he looked up at the giant with wonder and no small amount of trepidation. To think that there were still true knights of Avalon, who defended the weak and helpless, it made him feel hope for the future. But to come to grips with what he had seen. "We are in your debt, good ser."

"I'm no ser, just a squire." Dustriel said, waving the man's compliments off almost without notice. His mind contained in other matters exterior and mental.

First, he looked to Jibril, grasping for his friend's shoulder as he looked him over. He had been worried there for a moment, sensing that his friend could be slain by those brigands and fearing the result, but he seemed able to take care of himself. He even killed two. That was impressive for a boy of his age. Surely, they would be given their knighthoods for this, everything they had dreamed of.

"What should we do, Dust?" Jibril asked, gesturing to the squire that had not moved from his spot. He looked at them, horror and shock clear in his face, paralyzed with fear. A fear that Jibril shared though he tried his best to bury it beneath a veneer of his usual graces, a feeling that the giant had difficulty understanding fully. They had won, they had succeeded in their efforts...so why?

"You there, boy." The giant said, looking at the squire with narrowed eyes. The lad seemed to jump at that, startled back to reality as his eyes snapped to him, away from the smashed body of Ser Rainier. "You will return to your order and give Grandmaster Terryn a message for me."

"A-A message milord?" The boy asked, terrified out of his mind. Dustriel could sympathize, but that would not stop him from acting as he should.

"Yes, a message." He responded, nodding at the boy. "Tell him that these people are underneath the protection of the Shields of the River and that your captain was foolish enough that he sought to attack those underneath our protection. Those that risk our ire have no need for sympathy, let him know that boy."

"Y-Yes ser." The boy answered, nodding as he turned to leave.

"Hold, boy." He said, the lad snapping back around as soon as the words left his mouth. "What is your name? I think it only right that you tell me. A knight, even if he is but a squire, should name himself to his enemy."

"M-My name is Deryk, of house Bowstein." The boy, Deryk, replied with a bow. Dustriel nodded at the sight before waving the boy off, letting him take the varactyl and begone.

"Do you think that was wise Dust?" His companion asked, a confused look on his face as he looked at his friend. "You know that you risk inviting retaliation from the Helms if you just let him go."

"And what was I to do?" Dustriel fired back, "Kill the poor boy? I said that any of them would that cross that line would not be safe. He did not thus his safety is guaranteed. Would you make a liar of me Jibril?"

"No, I am just making sure you know what letting that boy goes means." Jibril replied, staring down at his feet as his mind finally processed what had happened. He had killed people. That was something that was going to be hard to get over, even now he felt sick to his stomach as he thought about it. He could understand his friend's reluctance to killing the boy, Deryk. Killing a fellow combatant was easy. They knew what they risked when they stepped onto the battlefield but a child? No, they could never do that. It did not matter how you decided to say it, that would be evil and nothing less.

"Let's report to Mother, she'll want to hear this." Dustriel said, Jibril nodding in agreement. The giant put his hand on his companion's shoulder, sending calming thoughts to the legionnaire but that could only do so much.

They escorted the peasants to the Iron River, knowing that they would have a lot to explain when they meet with the Lord Bridge Knight.

* * *

(Dustriel POV)

"What the hell were you two thinking?!" Catherine exclaimed, a scowl shattering the graceful smile that once sat upon her face. Her emerald eyes were narrowed at the two, her displeasure clear to see. "Do you know how much hot water you might have put us in?!"

"But Mother- " He started, silenced quickly by her eyes snapping to him. He shut his mouth. Say what you will of his bravery but there was a fine line between being brave and being foolish. He was not foolish enough to incur the wrath of his Lord Bridge Knight.

"But what Dustriel?" Catherine asked, her eyes demanding an answer. Bryden stood behind her, his face schooled into an expressionless mask. "What do you have to say for yourself? Do you know that you could have easily been killed and war would have broken out between us and the Helms?"

"…I couldn't just stand there and let those rogues masquerading as knights simply get away with it." Dustriel said, looking his grandmaster, his mother, straight in the face. As he looked into them, he could feel the worry and anxiety that she was feeling at this moment. _She still thinks of me as that little boy that used to toddle after her. _He thought, in equal parts annoyance and amusement. "Knights are supposed to protect the people, not just stand idly by as they are murdered for no other reason than that they were trying to survive with what was left to them."

"Do you know what might have happened?" Catherine asked, looking at her boy with clear eyes. What he said, it sounded like something that his namesake would have said. That stubborn old fool would have no doubt done the same, though his success would have been more questionable. "You could have died Dustriel. Do you realize that?"

"I know that Mother." The giant said, nodding back. "But still, I would not change what I did. A Shield is meant to protect, if it lays idle then it will do nothing but rust away and be useless when it is truly needed. Knights are much the same, if we just allow people to abuse our laxness then we invite them to test our resolve by battering down or doors."

"I think that that is enough, the both of you." Bryden said, finally choosing to speak up. His aged eyes showed pride for his squire, he looked the boy up and down as he looked on with a small amount of admiration for his actions. What he had done, it was like something out of one of the tales of Old Avalon. "I think that you have both proven your points. But I have to say that I side with the boy on this Catherine." He continued, the woman's eyes snapping to him in surprise.

"You cannot be serious Ser Bryden, what he did- "Catherine started.

"Was something that any true knight of the Riverlands would have done I assure you." Bryden said, "Aye, a true knight who defends the weak and who smites the wicked. Even at the cost of his own safety. It is time that you stop coddling the boy Catherine, it is quite clear that he does not need it anymore."

Catherine looked back at Dustriel; conflict clear in her eyes. How could she condone his actions (just as they may be) without reprimanding the boy for his foolishness? When she looked at her son, his hands covered in blood as he explained what had happened, she had thought only of what may have befallen him.

But as she looked into the golden eyes of her boy, the stout belief in which he held, she could only think of how proud she was (admittedly, after thinking of ringing his neck). That same look was something that her brother used to give to his fellow knights, a look that spoke of his unwavering belief in his oath. She thought about what he would have said, already knowing the answer in her heart.

"Dustriel," Catherine said, the boy snapping back to attention as he looked at her. "I want you to stand your vigil tonight. It is clear to me that you have more than earned it, your honor as a Shield of the River is something that you have more than displayed."

"T-Thank you." Dustriel replied, shock in his features giving way for a small smile to take its place. This was something that he had always dreamed of, to finally be accepted as a knight of the realm. There was nothing more that could feel his heart with joy. He looked to Jibril, his smile growing brighter before turning back to Catherine.

"What of Jibril?" Dustriel asked, his happiness seeping into his words. "Surely he too should be knighted for his actions."

"No." She said, shaking her head. Dustriel looked shocked at the answer, if he could be for his actions then why not his friend. "Jibril simply followed you lead, as you said he did not act until you declared your intentions. While his honor is intact, I cannot allow a squire to be knighted simply for the act of following his friend's lead."

"I understand." Jibril said, acceptance in his eyes. Jibril was thinking hard on what it meant to be a knight, looking at Dustriel who looked outraged. Not for his knighting, but on the fact that he too could not rise to the rank alongside him. "It's fine Dustriel, I understand. It just means that I have to worker even harder. I'll earn my knighthood the proper way, maybe I'll get it when I thrash you in the training fields." He said, grinning at his giant friend.

"But Jibril!" He shouted, only to be cut off by the look that his friend had on his face. He conceded the point, understanding the sentiment.

"Stand your vigil tonight boy." His master said, nodding at the scene before him. "I want you to think long and hard on what it means to be a knight. While many of the tenants that we preach echo throughout a Shield's vows, it is up to you to make the vow. A knight's vow should be personal, tailored to you and what you hold in your heart. Think what makes a knight, you will find that that differs from person to person."

"Of course, Master." Dustriel said, nodding to the older man. His face looked sheepish as he asked his next request. "Forgive me Master, but would it be possible if Mother is the one to knight me? I know that such a thing is unordinary, but it would mean a lot to me."

"It is no problem at all." The grizzled knight said, a small smile on his face as he gave his answer. "I understand why, I'm sure that she would be pleased to." He added, looking to his Lord Bridge Knight.

His mother gave a small nod, pride shining in her eyes. "Nothing would fill me with greater pride my boy." She said, before gesturing for him to leave. "Now, stand your vigil as is required of you. Your oath ought to be a good one Dustriel, make it one that will be remembered."

"Of course." He said, leaving the room, Jibril following after. He would have a lot to think about tonight.

* * *

Dustriel sat on the Iron River for the rest of the night, not moving an inch from his spot. There was no designated spot where one was needed to stand their vigil, as long as it was done and the knight-to-be thought long and hard on what it meant to be a sworn member of their order then it was suffice.

The young Nuhera sat there for the night, thinking hard on what he would swear to for the rest of his life. Swearing a knight's oath was something that bound you for all eternity, one would be wise to make sure that what they were swearing to be was good and pure. He looked down at the waves, his eyes narrowed in concentration as he went through everything that he had been taught. The only companion that he would have would be the crashing waves of the river, something that had been a constant companion of his as a boy. It is only right that it would be with them that I become a man.

The giant thought long and hard, thinking on what it meant to be a knight of Avalon. A knight should be virtuous, a man who kept his vows, a man who protected the weak and helpless, a warrior who slew the wicked and vile who would abuse others. A knight should live by a strong moral code, one that could encompass all that he was and all that he would ever be in but an oath that would bind him for all eternity.

What did it mean to be virtuous? That he held a strong sense of morals that defined his life? Who decided what was virtuous and what was not? Where was the line drawn when a knight should do something as opposed to standing there in obedience? A man should have words to live by, it was the reason why every noble house had a motto, but what marked the difference between the good and the wicked? Their actions, seen by others, might be the most noble thing to the one who acts but will be vilified beyond belief for it. Was that right?

But what happens when a man is forced to break his word for the betterment of others? Is a man virtuous if he prioritizes keeping his word over doing what is right? What happens when others abuse that man's word, forcing him to commit acts that would stain his honor? Is a knight within his rights to reject an oath that was sworn to a liar? A man who would abuse his subject for his own benefit? He did not know.

What did it mean to defend the weak and helpless? Was that only supposed to be to the people of his country, the nobles and peasants of the Riverlands? Or could it apply to all of the people of Avalon? He thought back to Reiner, the way that the man had been willing to torture those that were supposed to be underneath his protection. He knew that he never wanted to be like that. He knew that what he had done was the right thing to do. Men like that never learn and they would go onto inflict more pain and suffering on the world. Just look at the shape that Avalon is in right now. Dustriel thought, glaring down at the waves as his mind turned to what he had heard of going on outside their lands.

A knight should be someone that strikes down the evil. He should do this, not for glory or even honor, but simply because it was the right thing to do. Those that were wicked at heart needed to play for what crimes they had committed in life. After that, it would be up to the Witch Queen as to whether or not they had done what was right. We may judge each other as men, but only the spirits have the right to speak to us of our souls. Dustriel thought, nodding at the thought. A knight was someone who was virtuous and good, the perfect embodiment of all that was good in their world. A knight should seek valor, for that is all that they should crave.

"A knight is sworn to valor." Dustriel muttered, the light shining across the waters blinded him for a second. His eyes widening as he looked up, the crack of dawn bleeding the landscape in a shade of red. Dustriel smiled, it looked like it was time for his big day. He hoped that he was ready.

* * *

Bryden had been sent to fetch him, the old man looking at the boy he had trained with pride in his eyes. He clapped the boy on the shoulder, the giant smiling down at his mentor as he nodded back.

"Are you ready lad?" Bryden asked, smiling at his charge. It had been an honor teaching Dustriel, as had it been teaching his mother and uncle.

The bond between knight and squire was something sacred, it was not uncommon to find knights that were hesitant to let another train their squires as it could be seen as an affront to them. Let alone knighting them. However, Bryden knew that no offense was meant and to be knighted by their Lord Bridge Knight was something that any would kill to have done.

"As ready as I ever will be Master." He said, stretching his arms out a bit. He had been standing in that spot for so long his limbs had started to lock up. It was lucky that he had been jostled back to reality when he did else, he might have fallen over the rail and into the waters below. "Let us be on our way, it is time I believe."

"That it is lad, that it is." The older man said, nodding as he gestured for Dustriel to follow him.

The two walked throughout the ancient fort which had housed the knights of the Riverlands since their inception. Everywhere they looked they saw people nodding to the giant, no doubt they had heard of what was to happen today. Dustriel nodded back, a sincere smile on his face that was as rare as a scowl on Catherine's. It had been a while since anyone had seen it except for the young legionnaire that was Dustriel's constant companion.

The two continued on, never breaking their stride as they neared their destination. The two soon left the fort, heading for the old tourney grounds that lay further inland. If they were to do this it was best that they do it in the proper place. The fields that had seen countless generations of knights rise and fall would be quite proper, letting those that trained there that they too could rise to be one of the fabled knights of legend. Be it Ser Iohannis the Indomitable, Ser Dustriel of the Keen Edge, Ser Dyryke Moonblade. All had hailed from their shores and had trained the same way that they did, let them witness the next legend that comes from their lands.

Bryden looked back to his protégé, smiling as he had to crane his neck to look at the giant that was his squire. "You've made me proud lad." Bryden said, pride shining in his voice. "Never let it be said that you were not worthy of this honor. And remember, be careful with what you swear. The most skilled knight in the lands might be bound tighter than any slave if he is not careful with his wording. But do not allow that to think that you can be free and loose with your oath either. Be to the point and direct, tis our way." Bryden said, gesturing with his finger as he pointed at Dustriel.

"Of course, Master. I have thought long and hard on what I will swear in front of my brothers today." He responded, nodding at his teacher's words of advice.

"Good, that's what the vigil is for.' Bryden said, smiling before a chuckle broke out of his chest. "I swear the number of the anointed who get scared stiff and freeze up are countless. Just keep your head and your shoulders and you'll be fine." The elderly knight said, leaving his squire and heading off to where the other masters of the order would no doubt be waiting.

He sighed a bit, the nervousness of the situation getting to him. This was one of the most monumental moments of his life. This was the first step in cementing his name in the long history of Avalon. Today, would be a day to remember.

Dustriel stepped out onto the field, his posture straight and his face devoid of emotion. He saw the stands filled with patches of knights, those that had wanted to witness his ascension to their ranks and to welcome their new brother. Dustriel gave a small smile when he saw them, happy to see many that had helped shape him into the man that he was today.

As he approached the center of the field, the rickety old stand that divided jousters looking about to fall over, he saw the ten assembled masters of their order. Dustriel could see the same men that had once decided his fate all those years ago standing before them. He would let them know that they had not made a mistake that day.

However, he only had eyes for the center figure amongst the group. He spotted his Mother, regal and noble in her power armor, flanked on both sides by the nine masters that acted as her advisers.

Dustriel could note the weapon in her hands, the same one that bore the name of his sigil. He could note the way that the armor seemed to display her beauty in a way that no dress ever could hope to. However, the thing that he noticed the most, was the warm smile that graced her cheeks. The same one that he had known his entire life growing up. The smile that chased away all fear and anxiety, leaving in its place a sense of warmness and the feeling of protection.

He was happy to see it, especially on this day.

The giant continued to walk up to his assembled masters, kneeling before them as was his duty to them. Even when he dropped to one knee he still stood at the same level as Catherine, something that made the squire smile in amusement.

"Dustriel, of House Nuhera," Catherine started, her hand clasping her glaive firmly as she started her speech. "You came to us a mewling babe, entrusted to us by the powers that be. The spirits have watched you grow since then, becoming a man in but a span of five years. Nowhere in all of our history has someone gained the raw skill that you have displayed to us." She said, beating the butt of her polearm into the dirt at the end.

"But do you have the heart and spirit of a knight Dustriel?" The grandmaster of the Shields asked, her happiness hidden behind a stoic mask she now donned. "Are you willing to swear yourself to the Iron River, to the Shields who have carried out the will of the great Ser Iohannis? Well boy, are you?"

"I am my Lord Bridge Knight." Dustriel responded, his eyes staring straight down into the dirt. "I have sacrificed much to get to where I am today, and I will sacrifice more."

"Sacrificed?" Catherine asked, her inquiry made it quite clear that she doubted the claim. "What would you know of sacrifice boy? Have you fought and bleed with your men, willing to die for the warriors that made the same vow that you have?"

"I have not Lord Bridge Knight." He said, his eyes now wavering from their view. To look his grandmaster in the eye at such an important time, there could be no greater insult.

"Then it appears that we will have to teach you then boy." His mother responded, a few in the stands chuckling as they watched on.

"Tell me boy, do you know why brotherhood is the first word in our motto?" Catherine asked, the few chucklers silencing themselves as they saw where this was headed. "Do you?"

"Because there is nothing more important than fighting and dying with the men who would fight alongside you." The giant responded, confident in his answer. That was soon broken by his grandmaster's response.

"A textbook answer if I ever heard one." She said, shaking her head. "The reason why brotherhood is first, is because brotherhood is all that is allowed to many of us." She looked to the crowd, her eyes stopping on many individuals before moving on down the line.

"The reason is, because many of you in the crowd never wanted to be here in the first place." Catherine answered, Dustriel's eyes widened as he broke gaze with the ground to look at the stands. "That reason is because you were given two options. You could either join us, or you can die by our hands."

Many in the crowd nodded in response, as he reached out with his mind, seeking to understand the reason why they would not want to be knights, he was surprised by the answer. In many of them he saw the terror and fear once developing their powers, becoming ousted by their villages and treated as sorcerers and warlocks. He saw the shining image of a knight in armor, making them an offer that they could not refuse. Of getting to the Iron River and feeling a sense of resentment for being stuck here.

And he felt the fondness and love for their fellow pages and squires, the knights who took them under their wing and taught them to harness their gift. Who helped them when no one else would? It was only then, that Dustriel could see the truth.

"It is because many of us know that outside of these ways, many with the Gift are treated as freaks and outcasts." The grandmaster continued, "It was only by the grace of Ser Iohannis that we are able to live the lives that we do. When old Lord Amberton asked what the knight would request of him for his great service to his lands, The Indomitable only asked one thing. He asked that he would be able to take the 'sorcerers' of his lands and make them into knights. It is because we know that the only ones that we can truly trust, in a world that fears and shuns many of us, are the brothers who fight and bleed alongside us."

Dustriel nodded, understanding starting to form in his mind. The bonds of brotherhood were what made their order strong, he had heard it all his life, but to hear it went even deeper than he ever imagined. Truly, there was still much to learn.

"It is time to give your oath to your brothers." Catherine said, lifting her glaive and putting it to the kneeling giant's right shoulder. "Let us all hear your oath and bind you to it till the end of your days."

"A knight is sworn to valor," Dustriel started, Catherine moving the blade to his left shoulder, maneuvering the blade so that the same side of the blade tapped his shoulder.

"His heart knows only virtue," He continued, back to the right.

"His blade defends the helpless," The giant stated, thinking of Reiner and knowing that he would never allow himself to become him. Back to the left.

"His might upholds the weak," Dustriel said, thinking of how defenseless those villagers were. Someone had to protect them, to shield them so that they could lead good and honest lives. Back to the right.

"His word speaks only truth," The boy thought of their words, of how much stock was put into oaths. A knight who was not honest was not a knight at all. But sometimes one has to be willing to break their word if it is to a horrible and honorless lord. Back to the left.

"His wrath undoes the wicked." The giant finished. There was nothing else purer for a knight to do. To smite tyrants and corrupt nobles. It was why they their orders were created, the need for knights to protect the people because no one else could.

"Then rise, Ser Dustriel of House Nuhera." Catherine said, gesturing for her son to stand up. It still shocked her a bit to have to crane her neck up to look at her boy. "Rise and meet your brothers in arms." Catherine finished, the crowd giving a raucous cheer as they witnessed the boy's knighting.

Many had been there when he had first been introduced to them, a mewling babe in his mother's arms. They had all sworn that they would protect and guide the boy on his path to knighthood. Now, looking at that same boy as he became the giant knight before them. How could they not express delight for him now?

The newly minted knight looked past the crowds, his eyes searching for his partner in crime. He found him in the back, smiling at him. Jibril clapping his hands politely with that wry grin, winking back at his friend with the playful airs he was accustomed to. This was Dustriel's day; and his young friend would have his own soon, of that he was certain. Then they would be free to travel the land to their hearts' content. Until then, they would have to wait and prepare.

It was all that they could do.

-END

**So, what did you all think? I thought that it was high past time to finally give Dustriel his knighthood, who had ever heard of an eleven-foot-tall squire? The enemy would laugh themselves silly. But to be honest, this encounter is something that Dustriel needed.**

**As you can no doubt tell from the writing that Dustriel is a bit of an idealist. While that can be a good thing, Avalon is not a peaceful place (the Riverlands are just that rare exception). The nobility abuses the people until they are used up and then toss them aside. Think of GoT, Tywin just uses whatever people are on hand in whatever land he finds and uses them for his own benefit. And if we are being honest? Tywin would probably be one of the Good Guys on Avalon. There are a lot worse than the Old Lion.**

**Now, onto my favorite part of the chapters, footnotes! From your neighborhood friendly Remembermancer!**

**A Knight's Oath: As we learned throughout our stay with the Eleventh Legion, honor in one's word is the most sacred bond that a knight can take. Among these, the oaths that are taken once one ascends from squire to knight is the one that is treated as the most severe. The squire's knight shall have them kneel before them as they recite their words, reminding them of what their given Company is supposed to represent. This is done before the assembled Astartes of their Company, allowing their brothers to witness what it is that they swear to do and to make sure that they do indeed live by these words. However, if at any point the oath is deemed broken, the Astartes is stripped of their rank and is deemed a 'hedge knight'. That is to say that they are an honorless individual who does not deserve the companionship of their fellow knights. What happens to these knights is unknown, however a popular rumor is that they are recruited into the infamous thirteenth Company and are never seen again. When we investigated these rumors, we came up with nothing unfortunately, it appears that such rumors were falsehoods as the records indicate that there are only twelve Companies. We even asked the Primarch's equerry, one Ser Agravian, only to be chastened for 'sticking our noses where they don't belong'.**

**The Reverence of the Witch-Queen: Something that had worried us upon first researching the Eleventh Legion is that there were several reports of them worshiping a being that they referred to as 'The Witch-Queen of the Shadowlands'. However, upon bringing forth such concerns to the Primarch, we have come to see that this is not the case. Lord Dustriel made it quite clear that while they revere here for being the pinnacle of what a knight should aspire to be, he did not deem them as worship. It is said in Avalonian culture that she was the one who had taught them to use their psychic powers and gifted it to those that were worthy. She had taught them the power of Runes and it is said that Lord Dustriel is her given champion, hence why one of his titles is that of the Rune Blessed Knight. It is said that she guards the realm of death in which the honored warriors of old recite, waiting until the End Times when they are needed again. Surprisingly, we have found great similarities between the Witch-Queen and the being known as Morkai from our fellow chroniclers in the Sixth Legion. When this was presented to the Primarch he immediately took offense, stating that the sacred of the Witch-Queen should not be tarnished by being associated with 'those filthy hypocrites'.**

**Now, onto questions/comments from you the viewer!**

**Bladerunner24k: I thank you for your kind words. I wanted a good way to introduce not only Dustriel's powers but also a bit of the culture of Avalon (part of what Knight's Honor is all about). I am trying to flesh out the world and give you all a good feel for it, otherwise the Eleventh Legion will just be 'That Legion with psyker knights'. Because trust me, there is a whole lot more to them than that.**

**Guest: Thank you for the encouragement, it is review like these that I look forward to. Hearing that you all are having as much fun as I am on this trip makes all the hard work worth it. Truly and sincerely, thank you.**


	8. Chapter 8

**So, I am feeling really inspired right now. While I do not make any promises, I think that I might be able to get out two chapters this month (maybe more but we'll see). I think that college has hard wired my brain to always be writing something and this story is a good outlet for that.**

**As always if you liked what you read then please drop a review. I like hearing what you all have to say, and I appreciate some constructive criticism so that I can improve my writing. I feel that GoT has a small impact on how I am writing Avalon and I am hoping to step away from that a bit. While it is a good inspiration, I do not want you guys to think that it is just GRRM in space.**

**I would also like to give a shout out to my boy Mojo1586, as always thanks for listening to me rant. You are always there to bounce ideas with, and I cannot put into words how much I appreciate that man.**

**Now, onto the story!**

* * *

Dustriel looked around in amazement as he took in the grazing area for the order's varactyls. As he was now a knight it was high time that he had gotten himself a bonded partner. Mother had stated in not so subtle passing that her Celeri had laid a clutch earlier in the season, one which should be near to hatching relatively soon.

He would not admit to it, but he was a little excited about this.

"So, which ones are you thinking about picking?" Jibril asked, leaning on the wooden post next to Dustriel. Dustriel had been adamant that his friend be present.

If he could not be knighted for his actions regarding their encounter with the Golden Helms, then the least that he could be given was his own mount. Catherine had hardly the heart to put up a real fight over the issue, saying that it was not uncommon for older squires to be given their bonded partners before they were knighted. Jibril had at best a year left in before he was eligible to be knighted in any regard, some traditions waived in favour of expedience.

While there was no set date that a squire had to ascend, with the rate of improvement that he showed he would be more than skilled enough to best a good number of their order and equal a fair few more. He could ascend even sooner were he to accomplish some great deed in battle or one of the other senior knights recommended him for it.

Indeed, it would be a good to be back on equal footing with his friend. The awkward balance that existed now near untenable.

"I believe that I shall settle on letting fate decide. It's served me well enough in the past, and we're both due some surprise now and again." The giant replied, looking back at the grazing beasts. One could see the vast array of colors that were represented among their varactyl populace, looking at them like this was akin to seeing a spectrum of their race. However, one could easily tell that there was a greater number whose scales were of a bluish or a deep emerald. "And you? Any preference?"

"Hmm." The boy replied, his eyes narrowed in concentration as he focused on a nearby nest. Celeri's nest. There were a healthy number of eggs there, all different shades of the colors that they spotted among the herd so it was easy to tell just by looking what color the unborn hatchlings would be. "I'm hoping for a green. I think that would contrast well with my silver armor."

"Of course, you would say something so ridiculous." Dustriel responded, shaking his head.

"And you? What are you hoping for?" The reply struck back, a challenging glint in those silver eyes. As if to say that he had anything better to add. "One to hold your bill, at least. Tall order, that."

"I honestly don't care a wit." He shrugged, moving to enter the stabled area that blocked the grazing from the rest of the budding grasslands. "Any broodling of Celeri's will be adequate to serve the role, and so long as they chose me then that shall be more than enough.' He ended the conversation with that remark. There was no more that needed to be said on the matter.

The giant and his companion walked into the stables, Dustriel having to duck his head a bit in order to get inside of the building. The two were mesmerized by what they say. The large stables housed numerous varactyl, the pens easily large enough to fit three men inside and have ample rooms. They say the equipment stations where stable hands were busy at work, boys polishing the leather harnesses with the craftsmen busy repairing the equipment and working new harnesses. The sound of leather being refined and shaped into saddles mixed well with the trilling cries of the large lizard mounts. The two noted an unlucky squire scooping up filth with a shove, they repressed a shudder as they too remembered having to do the same when they had displeased the Bridge Knight.

"Ah, what brings you two striking young gentlemen into my abode?" A voice cried out to them, they looked and waved back at the figure. A middle-aged fellow, leather apron worn over a weathered tunic, with a grin writ across his face as he approached them offering his hand which they gladly shook wrist to wrist.

"Hamond Fuchs, you old devil." Jibril said, grinning back at the man. "How have you been? Been a long while since we've dropped by to see you."

"Ah lad it has, too long." The man, Hamond, replied. His grin turned a little wider as he replied. "Think it's been about a month since I've seen you in here Master Jibril. Did you manage to vex the Lady Catherine again?"

"Thankfully, that is not the case." Dustriel replied, chuckling as he saw his friend's face grow a little scarlet. Jibril was a well-known troublemaker on the Iron River and unfortunately was forced to help clean the stables in penance many a time. He would have felt bad for him, if he had ever shown any remorse for what he had done. "No, we simple have a simple request which should be fairly easy to manage."

"Go ahead ser, anything for a Nuhera." The stablemaster said, his eyes staring up at the knight in respect.

"We were told that the batch that Celeri had laid should be hatching rather soon. Do you have a good idea of when that would be?" The knight asked, nodded back in thanks.

"Oh, that brood?" Hamond asked, scratching at his chin. "I'd say that if it ain't sometime today then it sure as a Helm's arse is gold it will be tomorrow. Do my young friends wish to take a look at them real quick? Set your eyes on one you like?"

"We'd love to!" The legionnaire said, his excitement clear to see at the prospect. His companion chuckling at his enthusiasm.

"Then come on boys, shouldn't be but a tick." The stablemaster said, gesturing for the two to follow him closely.

He opened the door to the field, looking around a bit before opening it for the other two. Despite their appearance, Varactyl were normally rather docile creatures when properly domesticated. Peaceful in nature, not prone to harming human unless they felt threatened. The only exception lay for the females when it came to their brood, or in the midst of a breeding haze. Still, Dustriel was not worried however, he had known Celeri his entire life and the old girl would not harm him (and by extension those that were with him).

Hamond led the two through the grazing area, every now and then having to step cautiously around one of the giant lizards who looked up at them, disturbed from their meals and curious. Dustriel stretched out his mind to them, pacifying some of the aggressive ones with soothing thoughts. The three reached their destination fairly quickly, the expecting mother looking up at them with her usual blank expression uncolored by the waves of emotion that lingered to his perceptions.

Curiosity. Wariness. Recognition. Affection.

"Joy to see you as well, dearheart. You've been well?" Dustriel asked, patting Celeri on her snout. She returned the gesture by butting her head into his chest, purring a bit as he continued his pats. "Heard that your hatchlings are going to be coming out of their eggs soon. You excited?"

The old varactyl did not respond to his comment, though if she had he would have been a bit more concerned. The giant settled for looking down at her eggs, gesturing for his friend to join him.

The two scanned the batch, trying to see if there were any that caught their fancy. There were a good number of them, nine in total so it was an average batch, but the two seemed to have already set their eyes on the ones that they wanted.

For Dustriel, the black one seemed to call to him more than the others. He had set his mind out to try and see if any of them would stick out, it was no surprise that they all had varying levels of activity but no coherent thoughts to speak of. All raw instinct and fetal calm.

The legionnaire, on the other hand, seemed to gravitate towards the jade colored egg. Its scaly exterior seemed to shine a prominent shade of emerald (not too out of place all things considered) but stopped short of touching it. When he had made move to do so Celeri had growled, low and undulating in warning tone. Luckily, his friend was able to calm the matriarch as he took a few steps back.

"You boys seen what you need to?" Hamond asked, looking at the two of them as they came back to him.

"I think that we have. Our thanks for leading us out here Hamond." Jibril said, nodding in thanks to the stablemaster.

"Think nothing of it." Was the reply he got, the middle-aged man shrugging in response. "It's no big concern, they should be hatching about any minute today so if you want you can-"He was cut off by the sharp sound of a egg rocking in its place.

Perhaps it was by fate or by the eldritch knight's probing of their minds, but the hatchings seemed liked they wanted out now. The nine eggs started rocking to and from, varying levels of resistance as they started to break out of that which confined them.

"Well, speak of the devil and he shall appear." The stablemaster said, gesturing for the boys to walk over.

Celeri had gotten up as soon as they started hatching, walking off now that it was clear that her work was done. Varactyl did not raise their young, they were expected to be able to thrive by themselves or to die by themselves as the law of nature dictates. While the herd might look after their own, the parents were done as soon as they were brought into this world.

"Now, make sure that your mug is the first thing that your partner sees. Your mind, your thoughts" Hamond stressed, the two boys settling down next to their respective eggs as they waited. "That makes sure that they imprint onto you, if they don't then they won't trust you from any other Knight. Hard to train 'em up like that. Believe you me."

The giant nodded in response, putting the black egg away from the rest. Now that he had a good look at it, it reminded him of the obsidian that he had seen his entire life growing up on the Iron River. It is no wonder that I would pick this one for my partner. He thought, placing the egg down as small cracks started to form.

It had taken some time, the hatchling seemed to have a lot less energy than the rest, but eventually Dustriel could see the little lizard. It starred up at him, absolute trust in his little amethyst eyes, and the giant immediately felt a bond with the varactyl.

The knight gently helped the hatchling out of its imprisonment, slowly prying the egg off. He threw the chunks into the grass, not concerned as he focused in on freeing his new partner. When he was done, he put the little guy down on the green grass.

The first thing that he noticed was that he seemed a lot bonier than the others. The hatchling seemed to have troubling standing and walking, as opposed to his brothers and sisters who seemed to just spring out of their eggs in a sprint. The little guy took a few steps, his feet wobbling heavily, before falling down. Dustriel was by his newborn varactyl's side in a moment, concern in his golden eyes.

"What's wrong with him?" The knight asked, looking to Hamond. The stablemaster stepped forward as he looked over the lizard, his eyes scrutinizing everything about it.

"Hm, his frame looks fairly weak along with being a bit small for a newborn." The stableman said, moving the varactyl this way and that as he delved into a proper examination of it. The newborn cried out in discomfort. Dustriel sent calming thoughts to the little one, rubbing his head as soon as Hamond was done.

"I hate to say it, but I doubt that he's going to last the night." Hamond shook his head as he looked down at the pair. Dustriel looked distraught at the news, shaking his head in deny as he cradled the obsidian colored lizard in his arms.

"Is there nothing that we can do?" The knight asked, desperation seeping into his features. The bond between varactyl and knight was a sacred one. If they could save his partner in any way, he would take it. He chose me to bond with! Dustriel thought in despair. His powerful hands tightening on the hatchling in his arms. I will not just allow that trust to be for naught!

"I'm sorry, son." Was the reply that he got. "I truly am. But fate's fate, even the parts distasteful."

"Dust," Jibril said, putting his hand on his friend's shoulder. He could only fathom the pain that he was going through. His own arms were holding his own hatchling, concern on his face as he looked at the giant. "Maybe it might be better if you pick ano-."

He did not get the opportunity to finish his sentence. He looked at the kneeling giant, his head turned to look at him. He saw only anger in those eyes at the injustice of what was happening. The pain and sorrow that he was going through in that moment. Jibril did not have the heart to finish, nor did he find he could draw a breath.

"Just...Just leave me here, with him for the night." Dustriel said, his face consumed with a confused grief. It was only about midday, night would be far off for a while, but neither the stablemaster nor the squire had the heart to refuse his request.

"I'll let you stay in one of the stall's tonight if you wish." Hamond said, rubbing the back of his head. He wished that there were something that he could do for the Nuhera, anything at all, but the only thing that he could offer was for him to pick another one of the newly hatched. He could tell that offer would only cause the noble even more heartbreak.

"Thank you, Master Fuchs." Dustriel said, rising to his feet as he readjusted his hold on the scaly bundle in his arms. "I appreciate it. Now please, I would be left alone for a bit."

His two companions nodded at him, not budging as they parted ways for the man. The knight walked back into the stables, following the stablemaster as he had some of his workers clear out an empty stall for the two of them.

He would have to thank the man when he saw him tomorrow.

But for tonight, he just wanted to be left alone, no... not alone. Giving the hatchling all the attention that he would have the chance to in the future. He had only known the varactyl for a short time, but it cut his heart to know that tonight would be the only night that they would have together.

Dustriel pat the small lizard lounging in his lap, its amethyst purple eyes staring up at him as it cocked its head in curiosity. Dustriel could feel the hunger that was prevalent in the beast's belly, reaching over as he scooped up some of the grain in a bucket nearby. One of the stable hands had brought it a little while ago, giving the pair a pitying look as he walked away. The knight thanked him for the gesture, his face numb as he could not bring himself to feel right now.

"You know, you should have a name." The giant said, the beast eating his fill as he eat the grain out of his hand. He gave a small smile at that, thinking about all the things that he had wanted to do once he had raised the hatchling and Jibril was given his knighthood.

They were to travel the world, to see everything that there was to see. To fight as one, as rider and mount. To go to the farthest reaches of the world. To see the great Aeratus Desert. The rolling hills of Saltum, the great luscious plains and plentiful vineyards of Gwent. To be travelers.

"Yes, that shall be your name." The knight said, patting the lizard on its head and rubbing it a bit affectionately, feeling the soft leathery feel of it's skin. "Viatorem, the Traveler in the old tongue. I promise you this Viatorem, we shall see all that this vast world of ours has to offer. To scale the highest mountains and to fight the noblest enemies. I swear my friend, I swear." He continued, a small tear seeping out of his eye as he continued to rub his partner's head.

And then, in that moment, he did the one thing that he swore he would never do. Something that went against his being in a way that nothing else had. It felt like he was violating his very consciousness as he closed his eyes, bowed his head, and _prayed_.

While he had always respected the spirits, had looked to their teachings for guidance. He had never actively sought solace from their presence. But in his desperation, to provide for something that he loved, he would be willing to do anything.

'Please, if you indeed do exist, have mercy. He is but a hatchling, a child, he does not deserve to die so early. Dustriel thought, his head bowed in reverence. 'I beseech you, spirits, heal this little one and make him healthy as he was meant to be.'

Dustriel sighed as he looked down at Viatorem, seeing no change. He shook his head, cursing himself for acting like a foo. It was just like Malcador had told him when he spoke to him of the spirits. _There is no one to hear your prayers_. He thought, slipping into slumber. His hands clutching his soon to be dead partner, their minds connected as he allowed sleep to consume him.

* * *

(? Pov).

Dustriel awoke to the smell of decay. His eyes shuttered open, his hands and feet deep within green sludge that he did not even want to fathom its nature. He could feel eyes on him as he stood, his amber eyes snapping in all directions as he saw the greedy beasts that hid within the shadows of this…place.

He looked around for a bit, taking note of the cauldron that lay at the heart of this hellscape. He could tell from where he was standing that it was huge, easily the largest thing that he had ever seen. He could not even come to understand just how large it was, not able to see the other side of it. The knight's eyes snapped when he heard a small noise. It sounded feminine, the sniffling of tears and of endless pain.

He could see what appeared to be a cage of sorts, the black metal it was forged from reminding him of the obsidian that the River was made from. But it seemed to have an ominous air to it, like it was somehow sentient and seemed to want to devour him in its embrace. To never let him leave for all eternity. He ignored what fear he felt in that moment, running to the side of the cage, and stretching out his hand to joust the cage's sleeping occupant.

He could see that this woman was easily the most beautiful being that he had ever seen. Though he lived a sheltered life on the bridge that his order called home, he could tell that this woman was someone who was obviously of noble blood. From the silver hair that flowed in knots down past her shoulders, from the green ethereal glow that seemed to ward off the decay that seemed to consume everything else in this place. The only thing that seemed to be wrong with her, was the endless tear trails that flew from her closed eyes. It seemed that even in sleep that she could not escape what ailed her.

She jousted awake when he touched her, gasping in the pain that was her ever wakening moment. Her emerald eyes snapped over to him, first in hot fury. A fury that he had seen echoed in the eyes of his Mother when he was doing something foolish. But this seemed to be much hotter, more rage behind it than he had ever imagined. However, it was easily erased as she took in his form. One of her hands reaching up to cover her mouth, horror in her eyes.

"_My dear Eldarion, what are you doing here?" _The woman asked, reaching past the cage. She cradled his face in her hands, her green eyes speaking of only love and concern.

"_Who are you?"_ Dustriel asked, a little shocked._ "I do not know who this Eldarion is, my name is Dustriel. Dustriel Nuhera, sworn brother of the Shields of the River. What ails you good lady? Is there something that I might assist you with? Perhaps I could cut you free of this accursed cage."_

"_Dustriel…Dustriel." _He heard the woman muttered, nodding to herself. She smiled at him at his words, shaking her head at them.

"_I thank you for your offer little one, but I fear that this is the only safe place for me._" She said, her hands dropping as she spoke. "_You shouldn't be here, you mustn't be here."_ She continued, a little panic appearing in her eyes.

"_Why? I cannot leave you in such a horrid place."_ Dustriel replied, grasping for his blade at his hip. His hand meet only air, his sheathe empty. "_Please milady, do not believe that you deserve such treatment. When I find the one which has had the audacity to do this to you, I will cleave his head in and allow you to be free of this place._"

The lady blushed a bit, giggling a bit at his words. However, it did not seem to mock him or his effort. It instead sounded like she was generally touched by his words. Her eyes still held their panicked look, looking this way and that. No doubt worried that her captor would soon return. _Fine, let him come. _He thought, no fear left in him. He would teach the cur a lesson.

Her emerald eyes snapped to her anointed one, her dear Eldarion, that which had awoken her from her sleep. She read his mind as soon as she felt his suffering. His heart bled for his companion, a newborn beast that he had just meet. She could feel his pain as if it were his own, it appeared that he had inherited much more than her blood.

He had been gifted the sense of protectiveness that had caused her much grief throughout the eras. The ability to look upon those that he cared for and being unable to save them. Her heart broke for him.

She shook her head; she would not allow the same fate that had befallen her to be his. If he was of her blood, then he should have the same skill that had allowed her to care for her numerous children.

"_Worry not young one_," she whispered. "_Allow that which you love be enveloped in your protective aura, allow it to cover them and heal that which afflicts them. It is within your power to do so. Now please, begone from this place and pray that we never meet again. It appears as if He is not here now, leave while you can. Do not look back, you will only find heartache in this garden of plagues." _She finished.

Dustriel could feel a push coming from the woman, watching her drop her hands and hold one out towards him. He felt as if the winds were blowing him back from whence he came, no doubt the good lady wishing to whisk him away from this place so that he would not have to suffer whatever ill fate she thought would befall him when her tormentor returned.

"_I swear, one day I will return."_ Dustriel cried out, _"And when I do, I will free you from this place! I swear it on my honor as a knight!" _He cried, the last thing that he got to say before he was finally pushed away from that pit of decay.

Her eyes shut once again as she whispered to her beloved child, a small smile gracing her lips as she escaped from the pain if only for a time. It warmed her heart to care for her children and she would do so until her dying breath.

* * *

(Dustriel POV)

When Dustriel awoke, he thought that he would open his eyes to see a dead hatchling in his arms. He braced himself for it, knowing that he would have to move on and have to pick another.

Suffice it to say he was surprised to awake to the sight of Viatorem running around the stall, chasing his little black tail. He looked vastly different from last night, the knight had to read the little one's mind to make sure that no one had swapped the two out in the middle of the night. But no, this was indeed the small hatchling that had imprinted upon him last night.

But how can that be? He asked himself, patting the varactyl as it bounced up to him. It warmed his heart to see the sickly-looking hatchling to be doing so fine. No longer did he look like he was ready to keel over and die but looked ready to tackle the world. How could this have come to pass?

Dustriel thought back to last night, of his prayer to the spirits for their aid. Could that have been it? He thought, shaking his head at the thought. He did not know.

The last thing that he remembered was a woman crying out to him. The voice sounded uncanny familiar, as if he had heard it somewhere before, but for the life of him he could not remember where.

She said…it was hard to remember what she said. But he thought that she had called him to him in worry. Whoever she was, it was clear that their paths had crossed before at some point. He would have to put some more effort into remembering, but it was clear to him that something not of this world had taken an active role in this. How else could it be explained? It was said in the days of old that the spirits were known to heal the sick and dying, such stories were still taught by the Church of the Winged Serpent if he recalled correctly.

Whatever the reason, it would have to wait until later. Right now, he wanted to bond a bit with his partner.

"Well, are you ready to tackle the day Viatorem?" The knight asked, looking down at the excited little one. He reached down to pick up the onyx colored lizard, only for the reptile to cling onto his arm. He then crawled his way down the giant's arm, eventually coiling himself around his partner's neck.

Dustriel looked down at the hatchling, a raised eyebrow looking at the resting Viatorem. The varactyl returned the look, yawning a bit as it buried itself tighter around the giant's shoulders. He shrugged. It at least freed his hands, so he did not have to carry the little one around.

The two left the stables, the stable hands giving him a wide breath of space. They looked at him with sympathetic eyes, only for them to look in shock at the lizard that laid lazily around his shoulders. No doubt they had been willing to give their condolences, only to have to swallow their words when they saw that they were not needed.

"Wait a moment if you will Ser Dustriel." The stablemaster cried, running up to the pair. He did not seem to notice the obsidian scaled hatchling at first. "I'm sorry that you had to go through that ser, if you need to pick another then you'll be the first that we inform whenever a new batch is hatchling. If you want one now, then I'm sure that another of good Celeri's cluster should still be good enough to match your standards."

"I thank you for the offer Master Fuchs," Dustriel replied, a smile graced his lips as he stared down at the man. He maneuvered his shoulders so that his little passenger could be seen who looked up, annoyed at the giant. Hamond's eyes widened when they took in the hatchling, snapping back to Dustriel with a dumbfound expression.

"B-But, but how?" He asked, the shock plain to see.

"Why, by the will of the spirits of course." Was the reply he got, his companion smiled knowingly as he patted the little lizard who lazed upon him on the head. "Or perhaps little Viatorem is a lot more resilient than what we first believed."

The stablemaster looked flabbergasted as he watched he two departed, shaking his head as he got back to work. Perhaps there was some of that old Avalonian magic still around.

* * *

(1 year later)

* * *

(Dustriel POV)

Dustriel sat down at one of the tables outside of the barracks. It had been a long shift of training the little lads today. Despite the fact that he was no longer obliged to help Ser Bryden out with them the old man still requested his help. Something along the lines that 'They seem to actually put forth the effort when you're here'.

Perhaps if you stopped giving the poor lads such a hard time and encouraged them a bit you would not have this problem. He thought, breathing out a sigh as he took a sip of the local ale. However, it seemed like somewhere did not want to enjoy his little break.

Dustriel was too busy occupied with the contents of his drink to pay attention to his surroundings. He did not pay any heed to the padding of scaly feet upon the dirt road, did not pay attention to the cry of an adolescent varactyl as they were quite common in the old fort.

But what he did notice was the weight of a giant head pushing him playfully into the table he was seating at, almost spilling his drink as he held onto it for dear life. He had had a hard day, who thought that it was a good idea to disturb his hard-earned rest? Dustriel looked behind him, starting back into giant amethyst eyes who looked at him with naught but affection and loyalty.

Dustriel sighed, Viatorem cried out in joy as he once again buried his head into his rider's chest. The giant rubbed the varactyl's head in fondness, a smile replacing the scowl that was there but a second ago.

"What are you doing here boy?" The knight asked, running his hand through the lizard's purple and black crown of feathers. He could feel the excitement in his partner's mind, knowing that he no doubt had missed him during the course of the day.

_You big softie_. Dustriel thought, never ceasing in his rubbing which he knew his scaly friend was grateful for. The varactyl seemed to sprout up like a weed over the last year, even when compared to his own kind. The mounts of Avalon were known to grow fast, acting to maturity in but a span of two years. Viatorem did it in but one. It appeared that whatever power that had helped him as a hatchling had not stopped if anything, it had only grown stronger. Where once was the sickest and boniest newborn was the strongest and most sought after varactyl of his generation.

Many in the order had come to see him, some pocking and probing him with their arcane powers to see what had allowed him to grow so fast. Dustriel had had cause to chase off a few of the more senior members of their order who were a bit too pushy. It had almost come to blows if not for the intervention of their Lord Bridge Knight who had to order many of them to stop their inquiries. It was simply written off as another of the many mysteries that surrounded the giant knight.

"How did you get here, you big baby?" The giant asked, moving to rub the lizard's ears. "Someone must have let you out."

"That would be me I'm afraid, my error." A voice called out, Dustriel's eyes snapped over to his old friend. Jibril was waving at him, a smile on his face as he approached.

Behind the legionnaire trailed his own bonded partner. The emerald mount being only half the size of Viatorem, who stood a good head over his brother. Dílis, or Loyal in the Old Tongue, was just as his name implied. While he was a good and noble creature to behold, no doubt being influenced by the squire that raised him, he did not have the same quirkiness that his Viatorem did. While many would see this as a good thing (who wanted a three-meter lizard battering their head into you every day?) Dustriel would be the first to admit that he would miss his scaly mount's shows of affection. _Besides, as long as he can act the part as a serious and well-trained mount should then it does not matter._

"Jibril, what brings you out around these parts?" The knight asked, taking a sip from his mug. "Shouldn't you be with the other squires, polishing armor and sharpening swords? Or does Mother only trust you with running messages and errands for her?"

While the subject of knighthood had been a touchy thing between the two roughly a year ago, the two had allowed the subject to pass nowadays. The two knew that it would be any day that Jibril would be granted the honor of being knighted, he simply either had to wait or take some great challenge to grasp it for himself. Personally, Dustriel hoped it would be the latter. Perhaps it will be during the Grand Tourney coming here soon.

"Oh, ha ha, very fun ser knight." The dark-haired youth shout back, taking a seat across from his friend. "I would it so funny that I somehow forgot to laugh."

"Then what does bring you here Jibril?" Dustriel asked, taking another sip. The squire did not have guard duty, he did not have an abundance of friends amongst the other knights who were stuck on guard duty and the two had their daily practice in about an hour or two. He couldn't think of any reason why the legionnaire would be here.

"I heard that were getting a new shipment of recruits today." Jibril responded, shrugging at the look that the giant gave him. True there was always an influx of recruits coming in, knight errants bringing in the random stray sorcerer and those that sought glory at the Iron River coming to make their names known. But to know that a new batch would be coming before their arrival. Dustriel was a bit intrigued.

"How did you come by this information?" The knight asked, leaning forward a bit. It was quite obvious that he was already invested in this. Jibril grinned as he saw the interest in his friend's eyes.

"Well, I heard from old man Oakheart that some of the nobility had become to develop the signs." The dark-haired youth responded, leaning forward as the two conversed. If one were to spot them acting the way that they were, they would have mistaken their acts for that of rogues and other undesirables. Truly, gossip was a terrible thing on the bridge.

"Oakheart?" Dustriel asked, his face displaying his displeasure at the news. He had never been overly fond of the master knight. He could always feel the man's eyes on him whenever the two encountered on another, looking him up and down as if he were gauging how much he was worth. Couple that with the knowledge that he had wanted to send him away from the Shields, away from his Mother, and one could forgive the dislike he held for the man. "Does he say who exactly?"

"Not that I heard at least." Jibril admitted, shrugging as he saw the look that the giant gave him. "It wasn't like I was in a position to ask questions. I just overheard him talking with Master Rivers. You know how he gets to be when he is talking with the 'Sullied Master'." It was clear from his voice that he absolutely detested the title.

The giant grimaced a bit when he heard his friend refer to Master Rivers in such a fashion. Ser Amon Rivers was a good and just man, someone that everyone should strive to be.

However, because of the fact that he was born a bastard, no one gave him the respect that he was due. He had had to make his own name here and it was said that were it not for his namesake, many would have cast their vote for him to be named Lord Bridge Knight. When he had asked the man the question of why he did not step forward to do so, Master River had merely shrugged and said that it was not his to take. That it was the decision of his fellow Masters and he did not hold a grudge because they found someone more worthy. Dustriel had had nothing but the utmost respect for the man.

"Well, do you want to go and get a proper look at them then?" The knight asked, putting his mug down. He was always a bit excited when it came to the new recruits. Their expressions when they first came here (from awe struck to a bit fearful) was something that he had always found a bit humorous. He could tell why Bryden liked giving them a hard time every now and then for a good laugh.

"It's why I'm here, Dust." Jibril replied, nodding as he led the way. "Though a drink wouldn't hurt..."

"When will you drop with that ridiculous nickname of yours, Jibril?" Dustriel asked, rolling his eyes a bit as he looked down at his friend. Their varactyl followed after the two, pacing a good few feet back as they marched behind them.

"Hm, never I imagine, Dust." The legionnaire responded, his trademark grin sprouting as he looked at the giant. It was always fun to poke fun at his friend. He gave such good reactions. "Someone needs keep our noble giant humble after all. A trying service indeed, if an honorable one nonetheless. Oh how maidens weep to hear of my efforts gone unremarked, but valiantly I do endure..."

The knight simply sighed in response to the playful posturing, seeing the futility in fighting back. He had tried to change the Shearwards mind multiple times and he had always gotten the same response. It was pointless to try and go against him when he was set on doing something or carrying a jest. Stubbornness in its best visage.

Still, the moment passed swiftly and soon enough the two conversed back and forth as they set off towards the Towers of the Eagle Eye. Neither knew why the first set of watchtowers were referred as such. Probably to honor of one of their ancient sworn brothers. All they knew was that it would offer them the best view of the trade road leading into the Riverlands.

"...and I am telling you that there is virtually no chance a pair of twin girls would be sent here." Dustriel replied, looking at Jibril as if he had done mad. "It simply isn't...it wouldn't be done. No family would countenance offering two daughters, it'd be madness."

"Come on my friend, imagine it won't you?" Jibril responded, nudging his friend as he stopped at the top of the tower. "Don't you think that there is at least the smallest possibility that a pair of beautiful twins from some lesser noble family might have been born with the Gift? Stranger things have happened. Fate, as you so aptly put so often, has a way of offering a few surprises now and again. It's possible."

"Possible? Yes." The giant responded, rolling his eyes. Their new topic was as pointless as all the rest that Jibril had brought up. Say what you will of his friend, but the boy's mind was on girls and adventure, something that most people their age was focused on. But not Dustriel. "But the likelihood of that happening is damn near zero. Also, they would most likely be a bit too young for you. Unless you have certain...preferences that I was not informed of."

Jibril's smile turned into a scowl rather quickly. He lightly shoved his friend with his shoulder, his silver eyes narrowed as he looked up at the giant. It was clear that he did not appreciate the comment.

"Perish the very thought." The legionnaire replied, grumbling a bit as the two took a seat. Their feet dangling off of the edge of the tower. The scene would almost be perfect if it were not for their current topic of discussion. "I've dalliances enough with women grown to hold any wants for girls that haven't even flowered yet."

"Then stop trying to insinuate that you carry some then." Dustriel said, returning the glare with one of his own. Though there was a lot less heat as opposed to only plain annoyance. Why couldn't his companion learn that he just was not interested in talking about girls?

There was only so much that he could take. After he had let slip that he had been keeping an ear out about Lady Valentina, the White Rose of Gwent, he had never heard his friend shut up about the fairer sex.

To be honest, it was not only her beauty that caught my ear. Dustriel admitted, thinking on the numerous rumors that he had heard throughout the years. It was said that her skill with the sword was something to behold, her rapier and elegant grace made it appear more a dance than any true swordsmanship. Say that to the poor fools that she has defeated over the years.

"Alright, alright, I get it." His friend admitted, raising his hands in surrender. "Can we just drop this topic, please? You've already soured my interest"

"Gladly." The giant said, letting go of his glare as he stared down at the road. From up here, the many guards that were manning their posts seemed like ants, going about their business without a care in the world.

He did not know for how the two had sat there in silence, simply enjoying each other's company, but he could see that the sun was still high in the sky when their quarry was finally spotted travelling down the road.

The first thing that Dustriel noted was that they were travelling by cart. While such a thing might be a little out of the ordinary, signaling that they were bringing back a good deal of new recruits, there was one aspect about the cage that caught his attention.

It was a cage. No, it was more accurate to say that it resembled a cage more than a carriage. Dustriel could see that the only person left outside of the cage was the knight errant that was tasked with bringing them to their new home. It was quite clear that something had already happened, and this was the response to whatever their new arrivals had done.

They are lucky that we are at least a bit more merciful. Dustriel thought, his mind going to what some of the other orders would have done if they had tried anything that would require putting them under lock and key. Hopefully, it was not anything too major, sometimes mistakes could be made on the side of either party. It was only important that they could move past these mistakes and come together as brothers.

The other thing that Dustriel noted was the abundance of arrivals. It had taken some time for the carriage to come a bit closer in order for him to pick out how many there were in it. By his count, it was roughly twenty. For a knight errant to be able to pick up that many, they must have been either from Ambertonhall or some other major city in the Riverlands.

"Do you see that, Jibril" The giant asked, shaking his friend a bit. He might have been a little too rough, the squire jolted a bit and almost would have fallen off were Dustriel's hand not on his shoulder.

"Oh, they're here already?" Jibril asked, stretching a bit. The sound of his joints popping, and his relieved sigh made it clear that he had nodded off for a bit. "Hopefully, they can hurry it up. I want to see what the big fuss was all about.

"Aye," Dustriel responded, nodding at the thought. "I say that we get back down now, they should be dropping them off in the main courtyard before settling them down in their new quarters." The legionnaire nodded at the suggestion, heading down the stairs so that they could be on their way.

The two were focused on their objective, hoping that they could find out whatever 'dark secret' was being hidden by Master Oakheart and Rivers. To be honest, Dustriel did not care overly as much as his friend. He wanted to see if any of them would be interested in being his squire.

He had always wondered what it would be like to train a squire of his own, someone that he could help shape and mold into a proper knight of their kingdom. To feel the same joy and pride that Bryden had felt when he was knighted, wanted to develop that same bond with a boy that he could help shape into a legend. Perhaps that day was sooner than he thought it was.

When the two got to the courtyard, they were able to get a better look at their prey. The first thing that they noticed was that most of the recruits seemed to be fairly young with an odd teen here and there. That was not too much out of the ordinary, many with the Gift showed it early on so it was early to point out and to send them here when they were young. As for the teens, most likely did not have anywhere else to go or wanted to have the chance to become knights themselves.

Then why the cage? Dustriel thought, his eyes narrowed as he shifted his gaze from each of the occupations of the carriage. The only thing that seemed out of place was that one of the older boys, lad must have been only about ten or eleven, seemed to be fairly aggressive as he pushed and jostled anyone that got too close to him. He would have to keep an eye on that one.

The two watched as the knight errant jumped out of his seat, walking alongside the cart before pulling out his keys. He seemed to say something to the group, most likely nothing endearing if the lad's face was anything to go by. They watched him wave over a few guards, no doubt that one of them would try something if they assumed he was the only one there.

He pulled open the iron cage and stepped out of the way, allowing the children out and to stand at attention.

"Hey, can one of you go fetch Master Bryden?" The knight errant asked. The guards looked at one another for a second before one of them ran off to do as he was bid.

Dustriel hummed as he started walking towards the crowd, walking down the flight of stairs that he was leaning on a few seconds ago. Jibril was fast to follow him, his interest no doubt peaking.

"Good day there, ser." The giant called out, the errant along with his charges looked over to see the massive behemoth that was the knight. He smirked a bit at the awe struck looks that they were present on all their faces. He was not that surprising, was he?

"Ah, good day ser." The errant replied, snapping back to reality as he saw the giant knight step up to him. "You must forgive me Ser Dustriel, it has been quite some time since we last met. How have you been lately? Last I heard you had earned your knighthood, congratulations on that by the way."

"Thank you, Ser Walter." Dustriel said, having to think for a moment where he had seen the man. Knight errants usually did not drop by the ancestral keeps that the knightly orders of Avalon called home. They were much too busy seeking out potential recruits and rooting out those with the Gift. What does that make this lot then?

"I must admit that I am a little surprised to see the manner in which you brought the latest batch of recruits to our doorstep." He continued, looking the group up and down.

Some of the braver ones were able to keep eye contact with him, awe in their eyes as they took in his towering form. Some looked sheepish and stared at the group. But the one that truly caught his attention was the brown-haired lad who was glaring up at him. The same lad that had caught his eye, the aggressive one.

"Ah, some of this lot thought that it was a good idea to try and run when I was preoccupied back in Ambertonhall." Walter replied, glaring at the angry lad who returned it with as much heat. "I had to make sure that they couldn't make the same attempt, so I requested a carriage to bring them here. This is the carriage that good Lord Amias gave me." He finished, patting the prison cell on wheels a bit as he did so.

"Hm, any of them stand out to you Ser Walter?" Dustriel asked, eyeing them all critically.

"I have had my eye on getting a squire, would any of you be interested?" He asked, the group all turning away from him as they huddled together. The only one that did not follow their example was the brown-haired lad, who muttered something underneath his breath as he glared daggers at the giant.

"I'm sorry, I afraid I didn't hear that boy." The giant said, his voice booming as he turned his attention to the boy. Oh, he had heard what had been said, his hearing more than well enough to make out conversations halfway across this fortress. He just wanted to see if the boy had the guts to say so to his face.

"I said, you can go plow yerself, you pox ridden ass." The boy said, smirking as he saw the shock in the eyes of his captors. The giant, on the other hand, gave no such response.

"You ill hearted child!" Ser Walter exclaimed, stepping forth to strike the boy. He was stopped just as he was about to hit him, a large hand grasping his fist.

"That is enough of that Ser Walter." Dustriel said, his eyes brokered no exchange that could be done. He released the knight's hand when the man saw that he would not back down on this.

Dustriel could feel the rage and frustration that was built up within the boy. He could understand why he would choose to lash out at him. Better it be me than someone who would no doubt beat the boy for his insolence.

"Do you have a name, boy?" The knight asked, kneeling so that he was more on the boy's level. He shot him a faint smile, letting it show that he was not bothered by his insults. He had heard far worst throughout the years and he would not allow a boy so young to get under his skin.

"…Alanas Amberton," The boy responded, straightening himself a bit as he announced his name. No doubt he was proud of his lineage as he should be. "Third son of Amias Amberton, the rightful lord of these lands."

"Well met, young Alanas. That is the proper way that a future knight should introduce himself." Dustriel responded, nodding in greeting. "My name is Dustriel Nuhera, son of Catherine Nuhera. The Lord Bridge Knight of the Riverlands."

Their meeting was cut off a bit as they heard the crunching of power armored boots hitting the ground. The group looked up to where the noise came from, seeing a puffing old man striding towards them. Dustriel grinned a bit when he saw how winded the Old Man was, no doubt a bit tuckered out. He saw the awe that was directed towards the old knight from the young noble.

_At least he has the decency to show respect to the Old Snapping Turtle_. Dustriel thought, imaging the verbal whipping that the boy would have been given had he said his little insult to the old man. The giant would not have hesitated to give the boy his just deserts had he thought it a good idea to insult his teacher.

"Alright you mangy lot," Bryden started, eyeing each of the new recruits with a critical eye. "I don't know where exactly you came from nor what you went through. Truthfully, I don't much care, it matters little. Starting today your duty ties you with us." The old man continued, his eyes turning cold when it turned to the gaze of a few in the group. "This is sudden, I know. You have doubtless gone through hardships on your way to the Iron River."

No doubt the troublemakers that Walter spoke of. Dustriel thought, making a mental note of who would exactly to keep an eye on.

"However, I would advise against giving your new brothers any problems." Bryden said, gesturing at the giant knight who stepped forward a bit. Every eye was on him, no doubt still trying to get a feel on who he was. "It wouldn't serve you to make Ser Dustriel mad. Trust me, he might seem the gentle giant but he's more akin to a sleeping dragon." The old man finished, grinning at his protégé as the children all gave him nervous looks.

"Surely you jest Master Bryden." The knight responded, a small smirk on his face. Cheeky old man. "As long as no trouble is caused then I am the least threatening thing in this whole fortress." He said, before looking to Jibril. "Well, except for our resident legionnaire, he couldn't hit the broad side of the River if he tried."

"Oh!" Said legionnaire responded, taking a step forward as the recruits' attention snapped to him. Alanas's eyes narrowed at the dark-haired squire, snorting in distaste. "I think that you mean I can outshoot anyone of you Shields. My words should be My Aim is Always Ture, I doubt that you can claim such a thing you big oaf."

Some of the children gasped a bit when they heard the insult. No doubt they thought that it would make him mad. Dustriel only smiled and gave a small laugh. It seemed like his plan was working.

"True enough, true enough." The giant said, his small clear to see to the assembled crowd. "I don't need to make such claims however, every Shield knows that my skills are beyond question."

"Alright you two," Bryden said, waving the two off. Better to stop them before they start taking their talk too seriously. "Some of us have things to do today rather than to sit around and compare the sizes of our cocks." He finished, the two stopped their 'argument' at that.

"Now, I'm sure that many of you are wondering what is going to happen to you now." The old knight continued, the recruits turning to each other and whispering in nervous tones. "Well, for you younger lads and ladies you'll get stuck with me for a bit. Train you for a bit as pages, get your skills up and hopefully get you an apprenticed knight in about a year or two, if your fortunate."

Many of those youngest shifted uncomfortably, though in a few there was that spark of inspiration, of a challenge accepted.

"As for you older brats," Bryden said, keeping close watch on the troublemakers. Dustriel looked out of the corner of his eye when his master's gaze turned to Alanas, the lad giving a glare back as he turned away and crossed his arms. "We'll be getting you apprenticed knights right from the get-go. Page work is only really useful when you have people that you can afford to spare. When we get you lot trained up a bit you should be fine. Who knows, might even get to perform in the next Grand Tourney."

Dustriel doubted that a bit. The next Grand Tourney was scheduled to be in the next two months. The meeting ground for the knightly orders of Avalon, he did not think that they would want to see fresh squires trying to beat at each other instead of seasoned knights in the jousts or melee.

The giant's gaze turned back to the group, seeing the same doubt that was prevalent in all of them. He shrugged, they would have to get masters of their own and not being able to not perform in the next tourney would not stop them from doing so.

"Alright, for tonight I just want you brats to get used to your new home." Bryden said, nodding as he looked at the few guards that were still around. "'I'll be giving you a brief tour, show you the barracks and what not, so if you have any questions then you can ask them." He finished, gesturing to the group to follow him, a pair of guards bringing up the rear so that no one got any funny ideas.

Dustriel gave one final look to Alanas, seeing the lad glare at the assembled group before begrudgingly following. He could feel the lad's defiant nature, know what he was thinking of doing tonight when it got dark. The giant could now get a clearer idea on why exactly the cage was needed.

_Someone thought that it was a good idea to run_. Dustriel thought, humming a bit as he watched the crowd leave. He knew where he would have to camp out tonight.

"So, what did you think Dust?" Jibril asked, looking up at his friend with a hint of curiosity. "See anyone you might have thought worthy of taking underneath your wing?"

"I believe so." The giant replied, nodding at the question. "I think that young Alanas might be the one I take."

"That brat?" The legionnaire asked, a little heat in his gaze showing. "After he just insulted you right to your face? I think that you and I have differing notions of what makes a good squire, my friend."

"Perhaps." Dustriel responded, "However, I think that he is just a bit upset at his situation. Given time I think that I can break through to him."

"If you say so, Dust." Jibril conceded, not seeing a point in the argument. He had seen the giant shape proper knights out of the most talentless squires. If anyone could convince that brat to accept his new fate it would be him. "Well, do you want to go out and do a bit more exploring today? I'm sure that we can get up to a little more mischief."

"I think not for tonight." The giant said, walking off towards the barracks. "There is something that I must do tonight but perhaps the next?"

"As you say then." Was the response he got. The black-haired swordsman turning and heading off, his emerald varactyl following after like the loyal partner that he was.

Dustriel put his back to the wall of the barracks when he got there. His head tilted down as he leaned against the wall, looking like he was taking a nap on his feet. It would be a while before he encountered his prey, best to get a little shuteye while he could.

* * *

It was in the dead of night when Dustriel finally heard the pattering of feet on the hard ground. His head snapped up in an instant, natural born instincts flaring up as his golden eyes shot open. He knew that this encounter would be happening tonight, he had heard the plan going through the lad's mind the moment that he had stepped out of that accursed cage.

Dustriel saw the darkness that engulfed him as if it were a low burning light. The night had never bothered him much, so it was quite easy for him to step through the shadows. Much like a rogue in the night, a comparison that left a sour taste in the knight's mouth.

He slowly walked across the building, heading towards the exit as he heard his quarry within the recruit's chambers head in that direction. His light step seemed contrary to his large frame; one would think that an eleven-foot-tall man in armor would be the loudest thing outside of firing a bolt gun. But he was easily one with the night, only his huge silhouette the only indicator that he was there. A silent specter in the night.

Dustriel waited until he could see a hint of light poking out of the rear door, chuckling silent as he heard the boy think that he was scot free once he stepped out of the door. Oh, if only he knew.

Dustriel could see the brown hair and the regel features of the lad as clearly as he did in the light of day. He could see the sack that he had thrown over his shoulder, his other hand grasping an old lantern as he tried to sneak his way out. Tried being the key word.

"What do you think that you are doing Alanas?" Dustriel asked, the boy jumping in fright as he turned around to see the shadowy giant behind him. He could see the shock as he dropped his only source of light, the giant catching it before it could fall. It illuminated his features, the stern frown that he wore on his face clear to see to the boy.

"What the hell are you doing here?" The lad asked, angrily whispering. No doubt not wanting to generate any more attention. He was glaring up at the knight, his blue eyes trying to stab daggers at the man as he cursed in his mind. Dustriel had seen and heard far worse.

"Me?" Dustriel asked, looking down with a disappointed look at the young squire. "I am making sure that you don't just slink off into the night with stolen goods and your death sentence on conscious."

"They wouldn't do that!" Alanas cried out, shaking his head at the thought. "My father is the king of these lands! If he knew that I was here-!"

"He does know my boy." The giant said, kneeling so that he was back on the boy's level. "I know why you are here Alanas, I know that you have been developing certain…abilities. I know that you are scared. Not just of these abilities, but what they mean. You are afraid of being a sorcerer."

"I'm not!" The boy cried out, looking on the verge of tears as the knight listed off everything that he had been denying since he had arrived. "How can you know these things?! I've never told anyone about that!"

"I know because I am like you." The giant said, a small smile gracing his lips as he reached out and put a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder. "I too was born with the Gift, many of our number are as well. Your father no doubt wanted to protect you, to help you learn how to channel that gift in a productive manner. You cannot simply bottle it up and pretend that it does not exist. It will resurface someday, and it would consume."

"What would you know?!" The boy yelled, no longer caring about being quiet. He had already been caught so what was the point? He stared at his feet so that the man could not see the sadness in his eyes "How could you ever understand?!"

"All my life Alanas," Dustriel started, "I have heard the whispers of the minds of others. Their thoughts, their memories, their emotions. It has always been a part of me. At first, it scared me a bit." He admitted, remembering when he heard some of the sick and twisted things that he had heard some of his mother's suitors think.

How they wanted to make her submit to them, to be just another possession in their vast treasuries. He remembered telling the others, of how those nobles were thrashed within an inch of their lives. How he told Mother what he had heard and watching his brothers walk away scot free with the beating they inflicted upon the sick swine.

"But I was able to learn how to control it." He finished, squeezing the lad's shoulder a bit in reassurance. "I learned to love the men who helped raise me and fight alongside me as my family. They are my brothers, and from this day on they are yours as well."

"I just want to go home." Alanas said, looking up at the giant with tears in his eyes. He looked so defeated, not knowing what to do with himself. "I just want to be with my family again." He said, wiping at the tears that were starting at fall.

"You are home my boy." Dustriel said, pulling the lad into a hug. "You are home, with your brothers. We're your family now Alanas and we will always be there for you."

The boy let himself cry as he leaned into the knight's shoulder. The resistance that he had held onto crumbled away, looking up at the giant with tears in his eyes. Dustriel only responded with a smile and a pat upon the boy's head.

"Well, what do you say lad?" Dustriel asked, standing back to his full height once he saw that the boy was done. He offered his hand to the lad, his smile still in place. "Will you stay, learn to control your power and become a knight the people of Avalon will speak of for ages? Or will you run away into the shadows, to be forgotten?"

Alanas looked from the far away gates that had once seemed so appealing, back to the smiling knight as he contemplated his answer. He already knew what he would do, dropping his pack.

He took the giant's outstretched hand, his answer clear to see.

"I think I'll go with you, Ser Dustriel." Alanas replied, his voice a bit more respectful than his previous tone. "If you'll have me?"

"Of course." Dustriel said, putting a hand around the boy's shoulders.

As the two stepped back towards a better future, knowing that they could find trust in each other.

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(END)

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**So, I think that I can finally escape the Iron River. Thank the Lord! I love the place and all, don't get me wrong, but I think that I need to actually be going somewhere and I need to get to the next place of interest: THE GRAND TOURNEY! It seems like in stories like these that tourneys are the places where stuff happens. It is where we will finally get introduced to the rest of the power players on Avalon and for Dustriel to really get a name for himself. The few chapters before were all set up for this, I will not be lying when I say that the Grand Tourney is where the dominos start to fall into place. Now, onto the footnote for the chapter (only one because I feel freaking tired):**

**Grand Tourneys: Every three years, a ceasefire is called between all thirteen kingdoms of Avalon and the grandmasters of the various knight orders of Avalon meet in a predetermined area. Usually the location is one of the great keeps that house the kingdom's knight order and it is often seen as a way to show one's prestige by performing well in the tourney. The main attractions of course being the grand melee (a tournament which showcases the swordsmanship of the various knights of the world) along with that jousting series that pits mounted riders against each other in a game of mounted combat. At the end of each contest, the victorious knight is allowed to name a lady from the crowd with the title of "Lady of Hope and Devotion", an honor and act that can be seen on the level as declaring one's eternal love. The lady is typically given a gift of some kind, usually a number of flowers or jewelry bought with the winnings, but there are no true restrictions.**

**However, something that is of note is the act of ransom in the early tourneys of Avalon. With technology being vastly different as one goes from one kingdom to the next, it can be quite easy to defeat a knight in the jousts and demand ransom back for his equipment. This can vary from gold to odd bits of whatever tech is available (a rare case showed a knight of the Ice Wraiths being given a cloak which allowed complete camouflage from the Brotherhood). There are also tests of marksmanship and the different trades (blacksmithing, painting, poetry, etc.). depending on what order hosts the tourney that year so it is hard to pinpoint exactly what a tourney would look like without experiencing it firsthand.**


	9. Chapter 9

**So yeah, here I am again. It feels a little weird to be uploading a second chapter in a month, but I think that I am getting better at being able to write long chapters without dragging on. So, as promised, here we are in the Grand Tourney! Been waiting for this chapter for freaking ever. A lot of the important players in the War are addressed here so it might be a good idea to pay attention to the numerous characters that I will throw your way briefly. It is a technique that I think Martin does well is that he will introduce a character early on, one that springs to mind is Euron, and he will not touch them for freaking ever. Yeah, I ain't going to do that to you guys.**

**As always if you like my stuff here then go check out my boy Mojo1586's works. He is a lot better than me when it comes to writing and has been a tremendous person to work with when I am writing this story.**

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(Dustriel POV)

Dustriel brought the practice sword up in a second, catching one of the blades that was heading towards his torso as he sidestepped the other. He could hear the frustration in the yell that his protégé spat out as he pulled back his blades. He gave a small twirl of the wooden blade as he straightened himself.

His squire was panting a little, no doubt exhausted from their sparring session. Good, means that he is actually putting forth the effort. He thought, smiling fondly at his apprentice. It meant that he was taking this seriously. With an attitude like that, he would go far if he wished to.

"Are you done yet lad?" The giant yelled out, looking Alanas up and down a bit. The boy was sweating a bit, panting as he looked about to keel over.

"Not yet, haven't been able to get a clean cut on you." The boy said, his twin swords held in a loose grip as he was bent over.

"You're a little too fresh to get a cut on me Alanas." Dustriel said, sheathing his sword as he approached the lad. He could not afford to have a half dead squire, now could he? _Who would saddle Viatorem then? _He thought, chuckling as he patted the boy on the back.

"I think that that is good enough for today." The knight said, helping the boy as he took a seat on a nearby fallen tree.

They had been allowed to practice in the open field as they travelled on their way to Highcalere Keep, the ancestral home of the Golden Helms. It had been decided that that was where the next Grand Tourney would be held, something that did not sit well with either the Shields or the Legion. However, as long as the Helms did not cause any trouble than there was nothing to fear.

Hopefully.

"You're just too damn fast Master." Alanas said, gulping down water from his waterskin as soon as the pair had sat down. The legionnaire that had been watching on the sidelines stood up and walked over to them.

"Don't worry about it, lad." Jibril said, nodding towards the giant who looked concerned for the boy. "This giant lug is like a Wraith in their snowy peaks. Fast and you never expect when he'll knock you on your arse." He continued, shoving the giant on the shoulder in a playful manner.

"Oh, you laugh it up Jibril." The giant said, shaking his head at the comment. "At least take this a bit more seriously. Do you have any pointers for the boy? As an outside perspective I would think that you would have a comment or two. It's one of the reasons I asked for you to be here anyway."

"Don't worry about it." The black-haired squire said, his trademark grin back on his face. "Well, the first thing I'd noticed is that you got the boy started on using two blades at the same time. Got a reason for that?" He asked, a questioning look on his face. Though his eyes held a hint of understanding.

"The lad's ambidextrous." Dustriel explained, as if that would clear up everything. "If he can use a sword as well in his right hand as if left then why shouldn't he be using both hands?"

"Isn't that what a shield is for though?" Jibril replied, gesturing to the giant hunk of metal that the Shield carried on his back. "You use it in your off hand to protect yourself as well as beat the other guy's head in when they least expected it. You yourself use that technique like none other I have seen."

Dustriel did not respond to the compliment, thinking about what the legionnaire had said. While true his tactic did differ a bit from the teachings of the Silver Legion, they used their tower shields more like an impervious wall that they could use in a variety of ways to defeat their foes. He, on the other hand, used his as more a second weapon than as a purely defensive armament.

"The reason why that is Jibril, is because I will always favor my right hand over my left." Dustriel admitted, shrugging a bit at the look his friend gave him. "With Alanas, if I can get him to rely on both of his hands simultaneously then he should be able to use his blades in numerous different techniques that rely on pinpoint precision in regard to dual wielding." He continued, droning on for a bit as he explained his reasoning.

When he had first started to teach the boy, he could notice the numerous holes in the boy's stance when he used a single blade in either of his hands. The lad was stubborn enough to state that he did not enjoy the feel of a shield in his hand when he suggested using one. He said that it felt like he was weighing him down, that he needed to move about if he was to be effective.

_I will have to speak to the master of arms at Ambertonhall when I get the chance._ Dustriel thought, eyeing up his squire. The lad was good, he had a bit of the basics down but not nearly enough that the son of the king should have. No doubt his status as third son making his training less of a priority.

"A good notion," Jibril admitted, agreeing with the notion. "If you can get it to work. But I think that that is enough training for today." He continued, jumping up from his seat with a spring in his step. "I want to go and speak with some of our noble lords who decided to tag along."

Dustriel could feel the sarcasm in his friend's voice, nodding at the suggestion. It would be interesting to meet some of the nobles that called Tailte Abhann their home. Hope that none of the ones that the others thrashed within an inch of their lives are here. He though, smirking at the memories.

"Come along Alanas, I'm sure that you will want to meet your family while you have the chance." The giant said, his squire jumping to follow.

"Of course Master, I'm sure that they'll be happy to know that I'm training under someone as skilled as you." The boy said, his smile beaming up at his teacher. It would be good to see them again, no doubt that he missed them greatly while he trained on the River.

The three continued on their way, weaving in between the numerous servants and tradesmen that were needed on the party's journey to Autumna. The sound of metal being beat upon anvils, of servant girls doing the errands that their lieges required of them, of pack kodos crying here and there as they were pulling the carriages and wagons. It all added to the chaos of the camp, reminding the three of the month that they had been stuck on the roads on the way to the meeting grounds for the knights of Avalon. To be honest, it frustrated the giant to no end on how slow they were travelling.

_I swear if it were not for the numerous nobles that think that the Grand Tourney is nothing less than a cock measuring contest for them to showcase their greatness over one another than we would already be there._ Dustriel though, his eyes narrowed down at the countless useless members of their travelling band. Many who looked up at the giant in wonder, from the fair noble maidens to the gruff looking ashen haired men, only to look away in fright when they caught his attention. If they were going to be coming with them, the least that they could do was actually help around the camp rather than complaining around the fires.

The three noticed a few armed men that they could not recall, their armaments printed with the heraldry of the numerous families that laid claim to their kingdom. A seagull flying over the waves marked House Marshwell, the charging giant kodo House Stelbruy, an oak tree with roots that ensnared a human heart marked House Oakheart. Dustriel grimaced at that one, thinking of the scheming knight who hailed from the noble house and acted as if that gave him the right to do as he pleased.

But the one that truly caught his attention was an emblem he had been taught since the day he could read. He should know it well after all, it was the mark of his house. He could see the human half of the emblem, a nereid if he recalled correctly, noble in features and looking proud as she pointed out at some unseen adversary. Meanwhile, the other hand was grasping a runed spear. The bottom half was that of the woman's legs as they formed from the waves, as if to spring off of the fabric and into the thick of battle. The emblem of House Nuhera, the house that his 'grandfather' was head of. He had had the fortune of being able to evade the older man since the start of their journey, leaving as soon as he could feel his presence walking closer.

However, Dustriel knew that he would have to confront the man at some point. He just hoped it was no time soon.

The three passed the numerous tents, nodding and saying hello to those that they encountered. Many seemed a bit surprised at the knight when he bowed to greet them, many not even reaching up to his chest. The legionnaire and Shield just chuckled at their response, their charge barely holding onto his composure as he waved goodbye.

"I swear Dust, it never ceases to amuse me the way that these nobles seem to look at you like you stepped down from the other world. Like you're a god or something." Jibril laughed, patting his friend on the back as they continued walking.

Their last encounter was with a maiden, not too bad on the eyes, who looked up at the giant as if he were there to sweep her off her feet. She seemed a little disappointed when he stepped past her and continued on his way, her hungry eyes sizing him up a bit before she left.

"I do not think that that is a good comparison Jibril." The knight replied, frowning at the notion of such hubris. "Besides, I just think that these high-class aristocrats are just shocked to see such a skilled and noble knight in their presence. If their men at arms are anything like you then I can understand the reaction." He finished, smirking at the jap he sent his friend.

"Ha, I swear you'll have to come to Saltum someday soon Dust." The legionnaire replied, playfully shoving his friend for the comment. "Our nobles at least have the decency to at least pick better emblems than some of the audacities that you lot seem to favor." He said, pointing to the picture of the nereid. "At least we don't have things like that being shown as if they were the most favorable thing we could imagine."

"I know you lot to have an affinity for birds and other winged beasts." Dustriel said, nodding in slight agreement. Say what you will but it was still the emblem of his house. "Speaking of which, have you chosen your own heraldry yet? You should before we reach Autumna."

"Ah, don't worry about that." Jibril replied, waving off his friend's concern. "I've already had it picked out for a while now, just kept it hidden until I would have need of it. Trust me, it is quite the mark if I do say so myself." He continued, grinning as they neared their destination.

The three were making their way to the heart of camp, seeking out their liege. Hopefully, he would have a moment to speak. From what Dustriel had heard from his brothers, King Amias was a good man. He had always made sure to honor them and for that he would be willing to give the monarch a chance.

The party had arrived when they saw the flapping flags of the Ambertons upon a large tent. The giant amber oak, standing tall and proud, surrounded by a moat which encircled the ancient tree. A homage to Ambertonhall no doubt, a castle which boasted of some of the greatest defenses of Avalon. Dustriel had heard of the great lascannons that dotted the ancestral seat of house Amberton, the great walls which only the Iron River could boast of a greater defense in all of Tailte Abhann.

_Well, let us hope that the stories hold up._ The giant thought, breathing in deeply as they approached the tent. The sounds of merriment and laughter could be heard from within. He could see and feel the men-at-arms that surrounded the noble's tent. Had it not been for them as well as the flags then he would have passed this tent without hesitation. Dustriel glanced down to his squire, seeing the nervousness that laid behind the well-constructed mask that the boy kept up.

"Halt, who goes there?" One of the guards at the door asked, the mark of the tortoise giving away his allegiance. He stopped as he saw the giant knight, recognition clear in his eyes. "Ah, Ser Dustriel what brings you here? Do you business with the king by chance?"

"Thank you, good ser." Dustriel replied, nodding back at his brother-in-arms. "You are Ser Jolene correct? Sworn shield to the royal family? I remember you when I was a lad, you were always good with a lance if I recall correctly."

"That I am ser." The knight, Jolene, said as he nodded in affirmation. "It is good to see a fellow Shield here as well. The few Shields that we have guarding Ambertonhall from out of Thornton's Keep are never enough truly, but I do know that those of you on the River are the truest when it comes to our order."

Dustriel said nothing at that. While it was true that they kept a good number of the old keeps that dotted Tailte Abhann functioning, they never had all the funds that they needed in order to fully restore them. Couple that with some of the odd bits of tech lying around and it was a wonder that the nobles did not try and take what they wanted from them.

_Let them try._ The giant thought, his eyes scanning over the other tents in the vicinity. They all fear our bite, it is only a matter if their greed outweighs their wits. He feared that that was the case for many of the older houses.

"Well, I won't keep you." Jolene said, stepping aside as he pulled the cloth flab open for the three. The knight's eyes shined as he looked down at their youngest member. "And might I add that it is good to see you once again little lord. Are you being a good lad for those poor sods on the River?"

"Thank you Ser Jolene, it is good to see you as well." Alanas replied, bowing to the royal guardian. Dustriel could feel fondness well within the lad, no doubt reminded of happy memories that he had of the armored clad warrior. "Would it be possible to see if Father has a moment to speak with us? I am sure that he would be pleased to see that I am doing well. Afterall, I am been taught by the Giant of the River." He finished, looking up at his apprenticed knight.

Dustriel raised an eyebrow at the name. _That was a new one._ He thought, humming a bit as Jolene fulfilled the request, slipping into the tent. His presence no doubt not noticed immediately as the sounds of merriment continued without pause, the knight coming back in a moment.

"His Grace will see you now." Jolene said, looking at the three with a more somber look. It appeared that whatever he had encountered was not what he expected. The giant scanned the contents of his brother's mind, grimacing a bit as he realized what the issue was.

"His Grace has mentioned that he was especially interested in meeting the 'heir' of House Nuhera." Jolene added, his eyes snapped to the giant. Jibril and Alanas looked a bit shocked at the news. Dustriel could not blame them, he was having the same reaction. He was just a bit better at hiding it.

"Thank you, Ser Jolene, we'll see Lord Amberton now." The giant said, the two following behind their companion. He was going to have to find out where this notion of his status as heir came from.

The party walked into the crowded tent that housed the royal family. They could see a few scattered noble here and there, mingling with one another and laughing as they drank and conversed. A bit of their conversations was silenced as soon as they noticed the Nuhera enter the tent, having to tilt his head down a far bit so that he did not hit the cloth ceiling. He could feel their surprise and awe as they took in his large form. He was used to such reactions, but some of the more vivid reactions sought to find what might persuade him to fight for their sake alone. _Nothing._ Dustriel thought, smiling as he entered, his two companions looking a bit at awe at what they saw.

The tent was well furnished and boasted much of the ones who had prepared such an assortment of dishes and fine wines. They could see servants here or there, giving out drinks and small snacks so as to keep the nobility placated. They noted the long table which sat the royal family, a fine seat which housed an older looking gentleman. Surrounding the man on his sides was a middle aged beauty, her raven black hair seemed to replicate the embrace of the night as it drew any who looked upon her, her blue eyes sparkled with a kindness that Dustriel had seen only in one other as she helped one of the children with their meal. _A mother's smile._ He thought, his suspicion seeping away a little as the three approached the long table.

"Your Grace, you honor our with your presence." The giant said, kneeling with his head down towards his liege.

He could tell from this close that the man resembled Alanas quite a bit, though his brown hair was beginning to show his age as he noted there was quite a bit of gray mixed in. However, the man's eyes seemed to show delight as they took in the sight of the knight, smiling as he took in the sight.

"Ah, so you are the one that everyone has been talking about my boy?" King Amias replied, his hand beckoning for the giant to rise. "The so called 'Giant of the River'? I've heard quite a bit about you Ser Dustriel."

"My brothers have a tendency to over exaggerate my liege." The giant said, not bothering with the praise. He had heard that all his life and he found that he tired of it quite a bit at times. "I assure you that anything that they said should be taken with a bit of caution."

"Ha, it might be as you said." The king said, nodding a bit at what the knight said. "I've heard that you had stopped an entire Golden Helms invasion by yourself, that you have trained men with no talent into legends and that you ride upon the back of an ebony varactyl that has grown to be the size of a kodo in a fortnight. Is any of that true or should I punish the ones who told me such?"

"Forgive me Your Grace but I fear none of it was true." Dustriel said, a little apologetic. He did not mean for anyone to be punished for saying such. Such boasts and tales were the stuff of legends, let the lads have their fun when they are deep into their cups. "While I did stop a party of Golden Helms, I could not have done so without the aid of my friend." He continued, patting Jibril on the shoulder.

"I might train a bit with the young boys who need assistance from time to time, we all need a push every now and then." The giant said, smiling down at his protégé. The boy seemed a little frozen as he took in his family, the only two that seemed to focus on him were the queen and the girl that she was assisting. "As for Viatorem, let it just be said that he eats quite a lot my king. I only ask that you do not be too harsh on the ones that told you what you heard. We Shields often like to boast about our brothers in arms to others. It helps get word out about our deeds, bloated and exaggerated as they are."

Amias chuckled at that, merriment shown in his face as he waved off the knight's concerns. "That I do lad, that I do. No wonder old Dederic seems to think so highly of you. If he had raised your mother and namesake into being the legends that they are, I am sure he knows what he is talking about when it comes to our knights. _First to enter the battle, Last to retreat_ those are your house's words correct Ser?"

"That they are my liege." The giant admitted, feeling a bit uncomfortable with where this conversation. He had never had much love for his grandfather, he had heard enough about him from Master Bryden and Mother to know what kind of man he was.

_Trying to marry his only daughter off like cattle, demanding the return of a weapon that he had lost a right to, to this._ The knight thought, seething a bit in his mind. He would have to have words with the man, let him know exactly what he thought of this recent development.

"Well, I'm sure that I don't have to tell you just how essential you Nuheras are." Amias continued, oblivious to the frustration growing within the giant. "If I could, I would have risen your house to the rank of my right hand were your grandfather not already. As far as I am concerned, your namesake and mother are some of the greatest heroes that we have had in a long time." The king continued, his eyes growing serious as he went on. It was clear that the man had a high opinion of the giant's family.

"I thank you your Grace." Dustriel said, nodding at the compliments. "Your words honor us beyond any menial reward could ever. Now, may I beseech you as to the reason why I sought your council?"  
"Of course, of course." The king of Tailte Abhann said, it seemed he was eager to assist the Shield in whatever he needed. _It was said that King Amias was always a true friend to his knights._

"I thought that it might be prudent for Alanas to see his family while he had the chance." The knight explained, pushing the boy forward a bit when he tried to hide behind his massive frame. "I know that he would appreciate getting to see his siblings at the least."

"Ah, Alanas." King Amias exclaimed, not having noticed the boy till now. Though not through any fault of his own. With the boy's nervousness forcing him to hide behind his master and the king so enamored with the giant knight. Could one blame the man for not noticing his own son sooner? "It is good to see you again my boy. How have you been?"

"I am fine Father." Alanas replied, looking around the table. Dustriel noticed the three children, two older boys and a younger girl, giving the boy signs of encouragement.

From the first son, Althalos if he recalled correctly, nodded to the boy with a small smile. The second, Dederic, smirked confidently and looked away sharply. He would have to keep an eye on that one. As for the girl, she waved excitedly at her older brother with a large smile on her face, her eyes shining in excitement. Dustriel did not need his arcane prowess to see that the girl missed his squire. He smirked at the sight, catching the eye of the queen who too seemed pleased at the exchange.

"Are they treating you well Ally?" The queen, Magdalen Amberton, asked. He could tell from her creased eyebrows and her eyes that spoke of deep concern that she worried for the boy. "Are you getting enough to eat? Are you being a good boy for your apprenticed knight? If I hear that you've been causing problems for Ser Dustriel I swear-"

"He's no trouble at all my lady." The giant responded. He could hear Jibril chuckling at the onslaught of questions, his poor squire's face was beating red as he looked down at the floor. No doubt the poor boy was too embarrassed to look up at anyone.

"I can assure you that your son is getting all the care that he needs." The knight continued, smiling warmly at the noble woman. His confident display seemed to ease some tension out of the woman who returned the smile. "He's a skilled lad and I am glad that I have taken him under my wing. Give me a few years and I promise you that his will be a name that everyone in Tailte Abhann will know, if not all of Avalon."

"You can take my word for it," Jibril added in, grinning down at the squire as he ruffled the boy's hair a bit. The lad instantly tried to fight back, to escape from the barrage of attacks, but the legionnaire was too quick as he continued unstopped. "If Dust isn't caught up with any duties then he is always training this little guy. To be honest, I am a little jealous that he is hogging this big oaf's time." He finished, nodding back at the giant who seemed pleased at his words.

"That is quite a boast good ser." Amias said, nodding at the words with approval. "But I am sure that you will live up to my expectations. I am sure that there is more that we can discuss, however I think that it is prudent that we leave the children be. The fact that poor little Aeleis hasn't thrown herself at her brother is a bit shocking." The king finished, the little girl's face now matching Alanas was an endearing sight that the giant would be sure to remember for a long time.

"Of course, Your Grace." Dustriel agreed, looking down at his protégé. "You have the rest of the day to spend with your family. Do what you like but I expect you back at our camp as soon as the sun goes down. Am I clear on that?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course Master, if I'm not there to saddle Viatorem then who will?" The young Amberton asked, grinning up at his teacher. Dustriel could feel that the boy was grateful despite the bravado that he put up. However, being honest with his feelings was never the boy's way.

"Ally, don't speak back to your appointed knight in such a disrespectful manner." Magdalen said, looking sternly at the boy. "I raised you to show the proper respect. If I hear word that you have been taking advantage of Ser Dustriel's kindness, then we will have words."

The woman's violet eyes seemed to promise retribution if that were the case. Dustriel chuckled when he saw his squire's eyes widened at the threat, muttering out an apology that he waved off. He watched as the four siblings walked off together, heading out the tent as they conversed amongst themselves. It appeared that they had missed Alanas as much as he did.

"Jolene, make sure that you go with them now." The queen cried, the knight at the front of the tent poked his head in when called. "I don't want them getting into too much trouble is that clear?"

"Yes Ser Jolene," The legionnaire cried out, his grin in place. "Only the right amount of trouble shall be tolerated." Dustriel glared at his friend, letting him know that his comment was not appreciated.

_They were in front of the royal family, could he at least pick a better time to go on with his jests?_ The giant thought, looking over to the king in suspension. He could see his majesty's lips twitch a bit upwards when he heard the comment, no doubt amused at his friend's words. He sighed a bit in relief. Had Amias been a stickler for etiquette then Jibril could very well have been punished for his words.

"Of course, Your Majesty." Jolene called back, bowing to the royal couple along with a brief nod to the pair of knights before he was off.

"Now, onto business." Amias started, leaning forward as he crossed his arms across his shoulders. "In all honesty, I am grateful for you for taking in Alanas." He started, "The boy can be quite a handful at times, so it is good to see him in good hands. I'm curious to know just how much he has improved in such a short amount of time."

"I believe that he is making steady progress." The knight admitted, nodding as he looked his liege straight in the eye. There was no reason to lie so it would do well to tell the whole truth. "I believe that I would like to have words with your master-at-arms if I get the chance to."

"Hm?" The king asked, looking curious at the request. "Is that so? Any particular reason why that would be?"

"So that I can have some stern words for how he had failed to properly tutor my squire of course." Dustriel replied, his eyes narrowed a bit. He could see Jibril agreeing as he took on a similar look, no doubt picking up the same flaws that he did. "The boy had serious flaws in his guard once he started training. While I might have been able to help fix up the glaring flaws in his swordsmanship, the fact that such flaws exist in the first place is reprehensible/"  
"Well, it looks like I will have to have talks when our castellan returns." Magdalen stated, smiling a bit in response to the comment. Dustriel could tell that behind such a gentle face laid a world of retribution. It almost reminded him of the serene smile that his Lord Bridge Knight wore, welcoming at first but much more terrifying than any glare that she could give.

"Fair enough, I trust you in this regard." Amias stated, leaning back a bit as he stooled on the giant's words. He could see that the king seemed to have complete trust in his worlds even though he had never meet before.

_Perhaps he puts much stock into House Nuhera?_ He thought, thinking back to how he praised his ancestral home. Dustriel felt at both pleased and annoyed at the thought. While it would no doubt show favorably upon his family, he was still annoyed that his liege no doubt meant more about his grandfather.

"Is there anything that I can do to compensation for your efforts Ser Dustriel?" The king asked, he question shocked both as they looked a little shocked at the offer. "You have taken in my son and I do not forget those that help my family. If there's any boon that you wanted, then I'm sure that I can grant it to you if it is within reason."

"Anything?" Jibril asked, pondering a bit on the question He looked up at his companion, his eyes twinkled a bit with a bit of curiosity. "What do you think Dust? Maybe you can finally get yourself a suit of power armor finally. I am sure that his Grace could easily put in an order in with those dusty archivists in Keats." He continued, looking over to Amias who nodded at the proposal.

"While that is a good offer Jibril, there is just one question I would ask of you." The knight said, looking blank faced. His golden eyes seemed to stare into his liege's soul, Amias gulped a bit nervously as he nodded. "Why did you refer to me as the heir of House Nuhera? Last I recalled, there were no named heirs of Deep Lake yet."

"Is that all?" The king asked, a little confused. It was a fairly easy answer so there was no need to hide it. "From what I have heard from Lord Dedric, he has named you his chosen heir and his successor as the lord of Deep Lake. It is a fairly well-respected castle; lots of crop lands and it is built overlooking Lake Nimue. Truthfully, it seems that any would be pleased to inherit the keep. Is that all ser?"

"Yes, that will do nicely." Dustriel replied, bowing once more. "I thank you Your Grace. If there is anything that you require of me then I will be ready to do as you command. I bid you a good day, it appears that I will have to have a talk with Lord Nuhera."

"I hope that you prove well in the Grand Tourney Ser Dustriel." Amias said, nodding as he saw the giant bow. "We will be cheering you on so make sure that you make Tailte Abhann and your House proud."

"Yes, we will you good fortune in the challenges to come." Magdala cried, smiling as she bid the two goodbye. "I hope that you find your Lady of Hope and Devotion good ser. I'm sure that the spirt of victory will smile brightly upon."

"We thank you for your kind words." Jibril replied, bowing as well as the two left. The legionnaire could see that his friend seemed quite upset at the news and knew that it would be best for the man to be far away from others for a bit. He thought of the lord of Deep Lake, wondering what could have convinced him that naming his grandson as his successor was a good idea.

_Whatever convinced him,_ Jibril thought, seeing the Dustriel's eyes narrowed, his golden eyes seemed to be promising retribution. _I am sure that this will not end well._

* * *

Dustriel walked out of the tent as soon as he was able to. He didn't know how long he could keep his frustration at bay. If he were to allow it to show, it was best that he did no do so in front of royalty or risk insulting the king's most trusted advisor in front of him.

_I will have to ask exactly what he was thinking trying to give me Deep Lake._ The giant thought, looking around. He knew that there would only be one way to find the lord of House Nuhera.

He remembered seeing the old lord scurrying around their tents. No doubt he wanted to see if he could still sink his claws into their ranks.

_I swear, how such a man could ever sire some of the best knights of our order is beyond me. _The giant thought, his scowl overcoming his regular cheerful expression. When people stopped to look, they could feel an ominous presence around the knight. They fled when they saw the glare that he sent to those that came too close. Dustriel did not care, too occupied with thoughts of the cunning lord of Deep Lake and his tricks.

The only one that seemed unaffected by the giant's hostility was Jibril, looking as if everything was at peace with the world. His silver eyes showing sympathy when they came too close to his friend. He sighed a bit when he saw that the pretty noble too seemed to flee before his companion's fierce golden gaze.

Jibril stopped. Enough was enough, while he could understand his friend's feelings, he could not condone his actions. "Dust, could you please stop staring at everyone like you mean to end them and their entire ancestral lines?"  
"I do not know what you speak of Jibril." The knight responded, turning his gaze to lock with his friend's who send one right back.

"Oh, I am sure that you do." The legionnaire said, gesturing to their surroundings. Where once it was bustling with people, they now stood openly in a large circle that the crowd had given to the anger knight. No doubt not wanting to get in the way when he lost his temper. "Tell me, why exactly you are angered my friend?"

"Is it not obvious?" Dustriel fired back, his anger rising. The crowd took a few steps back again, sensing the great rage that seeped off of the giant much like how heat seemed to glow from a hot river in the dead of summer. "I'm going to have words with that old craven and when I'm done, I'll show him why it was a bad idea to try and force me under his thumb after what he did to my Mother."

"I think that you are not thinking clearly Dust." Jibril explained, sighing as he stepped up closer to his friend. His face betrayed no emotion, his eyes a silvery steel. He approached much how one would approach a wild animal, calmly and ready to be lashed out. Yet he still approached. Let it never be said that the lad did not have courage.

"I want you to take a deep breath and try to be at peace. Afterwards we can speak on this and think about what it means. Does that sound good to you?" The lad asked, his eyes brokered no disagreement as he told the giant what he was to do. Were it anyone else in this situation, Dustriel would have dismissed them with a wave or sought to strike the one who caught his rage. However, this was his closest and dearest friend, a man he would happily call his brother.

The giant took a deep breathe in and then released it. The tension was starting to escape from his body, losing the hard grip that it had on his mind. He looked around and was shocked by the looks that he was being given. Many looked upon him with fear and suspension, as if he were a mad dog that would try and bite one of them if they were not careful.

"Come, let us go somewhere where we will not be disturbed." Jibril suggested, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder. He could see the turmoil rising in his companion's eyes, how it hurt to see the usual gentle giant's friendly demeanor turned to sorrow. "Let us return to your tent, I think it would be best if we could discuss this in your detail."

Dustriel nodded at the suggestion, leading the way back to his temporary quarters. The crowd parted ways as he approached, fleeing as it were out of range of the 'mad-ridden' giant. The knight said nothing as he went on his way, his friend's presence a good remedy to the situation. _I will have to apologize to him when this is over._ Dustriel thought, cursing himself for having lost his temper.

The two walked in silence for a bit, not wanting to have a repeat of what had just happened but a scant few minutes before. The giant drowned in shame as the legionnaire's face looked blankly about their surroundings. It was but a few minutes before they had arrived at their destination.

The tent was fairly plain as opposed to the ones that the nobles and other high-ranking officials brought with them. Green blue in color with the emblem of the Shields laid on one side of the tent with the giant's coat of arms adorned the other. The two entered into the tent, even here Dustriel had to crouch a bit in order to get in but there was enough space that his head would not hit the ceiling.

It was a rather ordinary looking tent. Here and there lie a few pillows and a wool blanket laid on the large bedding. On one side of the tent was a line of well-crafted weapons and shields that stood in hand crafted stands. One was a longsword which had an indent running in the middle of the blade, no doubt designed for the rare student of half-sword techniques. One was a giant claymore that seemed to sparkle in the low light that they had. The blade had the visage of a snarling horse with a horn upon its head as a handle. However, they all seemed to be well made and it was clear that a lot of effort as well as time was put into each to forge them into the deadly works of art that they were.

"It seems that you have been keeping up your trade Dust." Jibril noted, taking a seat on one of the pillows. He seemed to simply become one with it as he sunk into the cushion, looking calmly up at the giant. He acted as if he were the host and his companion his guest, completely at ease in his friend's tent. "Though I have always been a little jealous that you can make so many elegant weapons and yet you never forged one for me. It makes me a bit said as I am being honest." He continued, his lips puffed up in a mock pout.

The giant sat upon his bedding as he chuckled a bit at the squire's expression. _He always did have a way of breaking the tension in a room. _He noted, gesturing towards the blades.

"If you want one then you can have it." Dustriel said, beckoning his friend towards some of his work. "To be honest I was hoping to make a good amount of coin when we get to Highcalere Keep."

"Ah," His friend said, understanding in his voice. "Well, don't allow me to stop you. Hell, when I beat up and take your arms then you can forge me a sword as ransom for it back. How does that sound?"

"If you can then I promise to forge you the most well-crafted blade in all of Avalon." The knight replied, "On my honor as a Shield."

"I'll hold you to that." Jibril noted, nodding as he become more serious. "Now, are you going to tell me what that whole mess was about back there, or will I have to force it out of you?"

"I don't know what you mean." Dustriel said, turning away from the scrutinizing look that was being shot his way.

"Oh, you don't do you?" The legionnaire asked, raising an eyebrow at the response. "I seem to remember you storming out of the tent with a look that said you were about to murder somebody for the slightest offense. And why, because your grandfather wants to give you a castle that should be yours by right?"

Dustriel glared at his friend for the comment, his eyes flashing murderously at his words. "Do not speak about things which you do not know."

The air seemed to pick up around the giant, growing heavier as his temper raised. It was what one would expect to feel when they had awoken a dragon or other beast of legion. A being that was so fair above man that they could not possibly be able to comprehend, something that was beyond the capabilities of humanity. Yet, this was brought by something that was all too human for the feeling to simply be written off. If anything, it made it all the more terrifying because of it.

"Then help me try and understand Dust." Jibril begged, his eyes yearning for answers. "Why are you so upset? Do you realize what many others would do in order to have what you stand to inherit? You have a choice now. You can rise up the ranks and be a lord. How many of your brothers in arms can claim the same?"

It was impressive how the legionnaire was able to keep his composure in front of such a force Many would have surely given up or fled yet he stayed. It spoke volumes of the man that Jibril was as it stared down the raged filled demigod.

"I don't want to be a lord." The giant exclaimed back, his eyes two golden blades that tried to stab the squire. "I have been and will only be a knight Jibril. This is simply that craven old cunt's way of trying to sink his claws into me like he did my namesake and my Mother."

"Really? Is that what you genuinely believe?" The legionnaire asked, doubt in his voice. He scoffed a bit at the giant's response, shaking his head. "I doubt that trying to give you a damn castle, your house's ancestral home might I add, is his way of trying to control you. If anything, he would have no way of exerting that control when he is dead now would he?"

"Then tell me why then?" The knight asked, his voice barely above a whisper as his rage started to boil over. "For what purpose could he possibly want to deal with me?"  
"Because you are his kin I would wager." Jibril replied, getting a confused look from the knight. "Remember, it has been a good amount of time since he has reached out to any of us on the River. Perhaps he wants to make amends?"

"You do not know my grandfather Jibril." Dustriel replied, waving off the thought. After everything that the old man had done, all the pain and suffering. _Where was he the day that his son was murdered, and his daughter forced to carry on with naught but Ser Bryden for support?_

"I do not profess to know Lord Nuhera or his motives." The legionnaire admitted, "However, I can say for certain that neither do you. Have you ever met the man once in your life Dust? Spoken to him or heard anything about him that didn't come from Ser Catherine's lips?"

"I've heard enough Jibril." The giant said, "I know that he is not the kind of person that offers something for nothing. I do not know his reason, but I do intend to find out."

"Then speak with him." Jibril pleaded, looking down as he asked his friend. "I never knew my grandfather, but what I do know is that he did love my father even though he forced him to marry my mother. There are hardships that go along with nobility as much as there are benefits. I'm sure that if you speak with him then it will make sense why he has chosen you as his heir."

The giant seemed to think on the idea. It would be prudent to at least hear the old man out as he explained his reasoning. He doubted that he would like what the man had to say, he already had a clear idea of what kind of man the lord of Deep Lake was. _A greedy one who puts his own interests over that of his own kin._ Dustriel thought, shaking his head as he started to lose focus.

"Alright Jibril, I will hear what the man has to say." The knight said, his companion's smile returning as he looked relieved at the news. Dustriel raised his hand, as if to deny him the joy of having convinced him. "However, I do this not for him or for whatever token gifts he seeks to bribe me with. I do this for you. It seems that you often have a better view of things than I do, and I trust your judgement. If you say that this is right, then it is right."  
"Whatever gets you there Dust." Jibril replied, keeping his happy composure as he heard the praise that his friend was giving him.

"Now, would you mind showing me some of your works?" He asked, gesturing to the assortment of arms. If there was anything that could get the giant's mind off of any topic than it would be his work. "I want to see what I want you to make me when I knock you into the dirt in front of every knight in Avalon."

Dustriel huffed at the response, seeing that they were done with their discussion for now. "Whatever helps you find solace when you are proven wrong Jibril." The knight said, standing up as he started to go through his collection.

The two spent the rest of the day going through the different weapons that the knight had made as well as comparing them to what small works the legionnaire was able to bring with them. No more thoughts of what was to come or heated words that would only put each other at odds. No, just two lads that had a love of weapons and someone that they could share their work with.

All seemed well in the heart of camp, nothing particular catching the attention of anyone. It seemed that happy days like this would last forever. Oh, how wrong they all would be. How close to the brink this fragile peace that the people of Tailte Abhann. However, that is a tale for another time.

* * *

(Bryden POV)

Bryden sat next to one of the many fires that were lit in the encampment. It had been a long day of pandering to nobles and making sure that everything was going smoothly. Large trips like these were always hard to manage, the blunt of which always seemed to land on his shoulders. He saw starting to feel his age seeping in, remembering the young lad that had been able to do much more than move a few carriages and direct his subordinates.

_Ah, I miss the good old days._ The old knight thought, hardly paying attention as he heard someone take a seat across from him. His aged eyes looked up, catching a pair of stern looking green irises. It had been a while since he had seen those eyes, the only one's that looked similar being his Bridge Knight's.

"It's been a while hasn't it old boy?" His compatriot asked, leaning towards the fire as he warmed his hands. "When was the last time we spoke face to face? It's so hard to remember at this age, feels like I've half forgotten anything that I do nowadays."

"I believe that it's been about six moths ago." Bryden replied taking a stick and throwing it into the flames. He could see that the man was happy to see him again, having spent his entire childhood with the man giving him insights into his thoughts that most would not be able to even guess at. _Doesn't make it any easier to be stared down by those eyes of his, a wicked glare he always had._

"Ah yes," The noble said, chuckling at the memory. "You had told me that the lad had been able to perform some rather impressive feats. Giving those golden bastards a swift kick in the trousers, it brings me back to the days when we were still fresh-faced knights thinking that we could help change this world of ours." The man's chuckles turned bitter, his face scrunched up in the pain of his past. "What happened to us Bryden? What in the Witch's name happened to us?"

"You left." Bryden replied, his face growing blank as he watched his counterpart look at him with pained eyes. "You had a house that was on the verge of extinction, I had no where else to go except to stay with the Shields."

"Don't you even think that for a second Bryden." The noble snapped at him; his green eyes appalled at the thought. "You could have moved out to Deep Lake with me, I would have made you the captain of the guard and married a nice noble girl. That's not too bad for a miller's boy."

"Ah, that would have been nice for a miller's boy." Bryden admitted, nodding in agreement. "And were I still that same green squire that I was, angry and lashing out at my fellows, maybe I would have taken you up on that offer Dederic. But I wasn't, I was a Shield of the River and I wouldn't turn my back on my fellows."

"I never turned my back on you." Dederic retorted, looking away from the Snapping Turtle's gaze. "I did what I had to do. Did you think that I wanted to leave my brothers anymore than you did? No, I wanted to live out my days as a Shield. It was through no fault of my own that my brother died of his foolishness. I did not ask to inherit my keep or the burdens that came with it."

"If it is what you claim," Bryden started, "Then why not just pass the torch off to another and have been done with it? But that is not something that a noble should do. Deep Lake has always prospered underneath the rule of the Nuheras and we have always appreciated you for it." The old man finished, letting the topic die.

Dederic's desertion had caused for much strife in their friendship. It was not right for him to simply walk away though he could understand why he had to. _That does not mean that I have to like the fact. _

"So, what have you been up to since the last time that we spoke?" The old knight asked, hoping to escape from their previous topic. Though he would not show it directly, he had missed his old friend. "Still have that brat Amias eating out of your hand? Perhaps you can try and get him to fund more of our keeps?"

"If only that I could." The lord of Deep Lake lamented, a more cheerful tone starting to come back into his voice. "I can only guess how long it will be before we have to take a more…direct roles in affairs outside of our borders."

"What do you mean Dederic?" Bryden asked, leaning in with his eyes narrowing at what he heard. The small flicker of sparks making the nobleman's eyes look even more sunken in, looking like he could barely keep the weight of the whole affair on his shoulders.

"What I mean is, much of the nobility is still angered by what happened during that whole fiasco with the Helms all those years ago." Dederic responded, looking down into the flames with a beaten look in his eyes. Where once his eyes were aflame with fury, now only the smoldering remains of a father's wrath were lit. "They still want blood despite what Dustriel would have wanted. I can't blame them if truth be told. I lost more on that day than many of them can every understand."

Bryden gave the man a sympathetic look as he saw the smallest bit of sorrow in the lord's eyes. Say what you will of Dederic the Dour, the man had loved his children with all of his heart. Despite what conclusions those two kids had come to their father had only wanted what was best for them. They had wounded him with their leaving far worst than any enemy could ever hope to.

_Well, at least that was what he thought all those years ago. _Bryden thought, remembering the distraught wreck that he had seen when he had to tell lord what had happened. How he had begged him to say that what he had heard was lies, that his son stilled live and his daughter did not have to live with the burden of having to watch her brother die. How he had held the man that was like a brother to him as he wept, sharing in his pain.

"Ah, I remember." The Turtle snapped, "But still, surely they do not believe a war with the Helms will do us any good? What can they seek to gain from the deaths of hundreds if not thousands of their knights?"  
"You would be surprised Bryden." Dederic responded, "When you get a lot of people riled up and point their minds towards something there is hardly anything you can do to stop it. I don't know who exactly is whispering into their ears but if things stay the way that they are then we will be forced to take action."

The Snapping Turtle was quiet for a minute, pondering the conundrum that he was just told. _The best time to have attacked would have been right when it happened, when Jeremiah still had the fury hot in his blood and someone to point the Shields along with him. _He thought, his gray eyes narrowed as he glared into the dying fire. _Catherine being named the Bridge Knight most likely destroyed whatever plans this rogue had. But the question is, who is it?_

"Well, I did not come here to bother you with the politics old friend." The noble said, seeing his sworn brother looking quite disturbed. "I wanted to see if that grandson of mine has been up to more mischief." He added, looking greatly invested in what the knight had to say on that regard.

It seemed a little strange when Bryden first told Dederic about his daughter's fosterling. Why would he care what the girl did with some stray? But the noble seemed to latch onto that news like a drowning man does a plank of wood. Whenever the two would converse they would always go back to this topic. It did not bother the Shield any, if it made his friend happy then who was he to deny him?

"I think that he heard about that little bit of news that you have had circulating." Bryden said, looking at Dederic with a bit of annoyance. "Could you at least have picked a more opportune time to declare that to the other nobles? You know that they will try to skin him alive when they meet with him." _Let them try, the boy would most likely do the same to them. Only more literal in meaning._

"I would love to see them try." Dederic responded, waving off his friend's concerns. "If he is even half the man that you say he is then I doubt that those stuffing nobles would have the gull to try and coerce him into doing anything he didn't want to."

"Be that as it may," The Snapping Turtle replied, "You know that he does not have an overly fond opinion of you. No doubt Catherine has told me much in regard to your 'character'."

Bryden loved Catherine like she was his own, but she did not have much love for her father. Even now she probably still hated the man's guts and would try to get into a brawl with him if she saw him. _That betrothal with Auguinare Amberton was your worst idea_ _Dederic._

"Aye, no doubt she has told the boy that I am a honorless snake that seeks to use him for my own advantage." The lord said, looking not too worried at the prospect. Though Bryden could see that there was still a little bit of pain in Dederic's eyes when he spoke of how his daughter has come to see him. "She has every right to. After what I did, seeking to marry her off to that lunatic, I would probably hate me as well."

"You didn't know." Bryden supplied, knowing the words to be true. The former heir to Ambertonhall had not taken his future bride's rejection well. He had heard that the lad had been raving that he would have 'what was his' and shouted death threats to all that he thought stood in his way.  
Last he had heard, the boy had been heading towards Pugione. If that were so, then the Amberton was most likely long gone by this point. _With that cesspool of lies and deceit, were it anyone else I might have yet sympathy for them._

"But the two of them have been doing well." The knight added, hoping to steer the noble's thoughts off such a negative road. "Catherine has been doing well as our Lord Bridge Knight. The lad, Dustriel, is growing more skilled every day and it won't be long until he knocks all the knights of Avalon on their backs."

"You truly think that he is that good?" Dederic asked, a little astounded. "I've seen what that boy can do, he can put the best of Tailte Abhann to shame? Perhaps he has a bit of his namesake's skill."

"I fear that he would even put your son to shame." Bryden replied, smiling at the thought. "I feel he would have loved the boy as much as any of us. No, even more. He always had a big heart and that demeanor that just drewdieed people to him."  
"Aye, that he did." The noble said, nodding in response. "Can you continue watch over them for me as you have? Even though they no doubt hold me in contempt, they are still of my blood. They are all that I have left in this world. And I fear that I no longer have the right to see them though my heart yearns for it." He added, standing up. His back ached and popped as he got on his feet. He was no longer the brave and adventurous young knight that he used to be.

"You will always have a place at the Iron River." Bryden said, standing as he put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "If you would just tell them the truth then they would accept you without question. There was a time that I thought that the name Dederic the Daring would have rung throughout all of Avalon. It's not too late."

"Nay, I feel that Dederic the Daring died long ago when he left his brothers." Dederic said, lamenting. "All that is left is Dederic the Dour. If that knight could see what he grew up to be then he would deny it with everything he had." He continued, a melancholy smile upon his cheeks. "Farewell for now Snapping Turtle, always know that you are welcome at Deep Lake for now and always. It would warm my heart to have you visit my old keep someday. It would do me good before I die in my bed, though that is no way for a warrior to die. If only my ancestors could see me now, they would probably scream at me for not fighting the way that they had met their ends."

The lord of Deep Lake left Bryden there, walking off into the darkness. The knight wished to comfort his sworn brother, let him know that he was one of the best men that he had ever known in his life. That he had no doubt earned his place at the Witch-Queen's side when he passed into the next life.

Bryden could do nothing except stare after his old friend, vowing to do what he had always done. Look after the Nuheras and to not allow anything to befall them. He had failed once in that regard but never again.

The Snapping Turtle kicked dirt upon the flames, letting them die out before he went off to bed. They had a long day ahead of them and he knew that he had one more favor he must do for Dederic.

_Try to fix the broken bonds of his family._ Bryden thought, the darkness overcoming everything in his sight. He went off to his tent then, resolved to make things right.

* * *

**So yeah, that's a thing now. I am sorry that I was unable to get this second chapter out last month, but a lot of things have been coming at me nonstop. I'm sure that many of you can agree that the last few months have not been ideal. Also, I have gotten back into painting my Skitarii, so some things are looking up at the least.**

**As you no doubt have noticed I have switched the name of the realm from the Riverlands to Tailte Abhann. Big reasons for that is that I wanted to differentiate myself from Martin (no big surprise where I got the name from) as well as it just didn't fit with the other names that I had. Also I am just going to rant a bit about how Martin is a little unoriginal in his naming conventions (really, the North, the King in the North (a title that numerous other stories have used), etc.) and I just think that while he is a great storyteller that he could use a bit more creativity in his naming conventions.**

**On that topic 40k is much the same. Why are Terran animals so prevalent among worlds that should have developed their own wildlife and thus different titles for the Primarchs? The 'Lion of Caliban' is a good example as well as 'The Wolf King' (the former who I love to death and the latter I hope dies in a freaking fire. I said it, come at me.). Also the large amount of references to classic literature (particularly Shakespearian) in 40k is just a little too much.**

**However, onto the footnote for this chapter!**

**House Nuhera**

**Emblem: A naiad springing forth from a lake, spear at the ready as she charges off to battle**

**Words: First to enter the battle, last to retreat **

**History: The noble house of Nuhera comes from a distinguished line of knights and are well known as being one of the greatest knight households in the history of Tailte Abhann. Long has the family served valiantly upon the Iron River and many of the Bridge Knights held the name Nuhera. For their great service they were rewarded with one of the old keeps that the order no longer used, Deep Lake. The keep was built up with support from the Shields and is one of the greatest castles that dots Tailte Abhann. **

**Now it lies within the hands of the King of Knights, who used the keep as his personal sanctum. It is said that it was here that he planned the invasion of the other kingdoms of Avalon, the archaic brass table that the keep was known for being essential to how he no doubt visualized his conquest. However, it has been noted that there are few knights and servants that attend to the castle's needs. It seems that even on his home world that Lord Dustriel is not overly fond of having his privacy invaded.**


	10. Chapter 10

**I am back once again. Yes, here we are at undoubtably one of my personal favorite parts of the tale of Ser Dustriel. I will not exaggerate that the people that we meet here will be extremely important to the overall part. Never write someone off and never trust with only your eyes. This is a dangerous battlefield that our young Primarch has entered, let us see if he can overcome it.**

**As always, I want to give a shoutout to my boy Mojo1586. He is a better writer than I will ever be, and I suggest reading his works because you will not be disappointed.**

(Valentina)

Valentina stepped out of her tent early that morning, looking as refined as a lady of her station should. Mother had sent for even more maidservants to see to her needs and make sure that she looked presentable. The majestic white dress that she wore contrasted well with her ivory hair and the fine jewelry that she adorned only enhanced her beauty.

_If only she would let me go about in trousers and a shirt then I would be genuinely happy._ The lady thought, looking at her guard who stood vigilant outside of her tent.

Reynard had been with her for almost as long as she could remember. The two had taken their lessons together and he had squired under one of the more senior members of the Order. Moreover, he had been her friend for years.

Valentina could remember the times that Reynard had been bested time and again, only to get up again time after time. The twinkle of merriment in those blue eyes of his when she showed concern for his injuries and the scolding that he would get from her make the White Rose chuckle a bit.

"Does something amuse you this morning Valentina?" Reynard asked, looking confused when he saw his charge start laughing suddenly. Never let it be said that being a sworn shield was an easy task.

"Nothing, nothing at all dear Reynard." The lady replied, waving off his concern as she schooled her face back into the blank and pleasant look of a high-born lady. "Let us be off for today. I remember you stating that you wanted to have a look at the smiths. I can't blame you for wanting to replace that old thing." She added, pointing to the worn handle that was poking over the knight's shoulder. The image of the unicorn that was the handle was cracked and mauled, no doubt in serious need of repair.

"Hey, I will have you know that _Guard's Etcher _has never let me down before." The knight replied, mock offense in his voice as he put a hand on his chest as if he were wounded by her words.

Valentina rolled her eyes at his words, sighing a bit. "You named that old thing? I swear Reynard, I know that you have a skill with swords, but that thing needs to go. I'll buy you one if you want, surely there is a good enough swordsmith in this old keep."

"Ah, you are much too kind milady." Reynard responded, dipping his head in gratitude. "I'm sure that we can find someone suitable to forge a decent blade. My teacher always did say that a knight would be wise to keep two swords on his person. I just hope that it isn't gold." He added, grimacing at the thought of the accursed metal.

Valentina shared the sentiment. Ever since they had arrived at Highcalere Keep they had been besieged by it. In all the well-crafted décor that dotted the castle, from the snarling dragons to the imposing giant suits of armor and even the knights of Autumne themselves, all wore the rare and precious metal. Everywhere they looked it appeared that it was always within their sight.

_I understand the need to impress the other orders, _Valentina thought, his amethyst eyes narrowed a bit as she surveyed the area, they were camped in. Even at the tourney grounds it appeared that the knights of Autumne needed to flaunt their wealth and success to all who saw. _But they could at least allow a bit of variance in their tastes._

"I assure you Reynard, that if there is even a speck of gold on your sword that I will personally throw it over a cliff." The lady said, seeing the approval in her sworn shield's eyes. "I can only take so much. But for someone to flaunt their weapon with finery and jewelry, it makes me sick. It is a weapon, a weapon of war. Not a mark of prestige or status."

"I couldn't put it better myself milady." Her protector replied, stepping into line behind her as they left their small camp. They could see the men of Gwent look up to them as they passed them by, bowing in respect to her. It made her a little sick if she were honest.

Valentina could see the fondness that the knights treated one another with, laughing and jesting with one another as they went about their business. However, when it came to her, it was simply respect and even then, not even for her.

All they saw when they looked upon her pale figure was the daughter of their beloved Red Rose. The only other woman that was able to make her name as a knight besides The Serene Smile.

_Now there is a knight, a true knight._ She thought, smiling as she finally left the small secluded array of tents. Catherine Nuhera was a woman that she grew up idolizing. While her mother was an inspiration to her, not afraid to lead trained and hardened men into the thick of battle, she was never supportive of her following in the same footsteps. Valentina would grow up hearing of the exploits of Catherine, smiling and cheering when she was told the same tales over and over when she was getting ready to go to sleep. She hoped that she would be able to meet the woman, to see her hero in the flesh would be a dream come true to her.

'_I doubt that I will be able to meet her anytime soon. Especially here of all places.'_ Valentina thought, a little upset at the thought. The Golden Helms and the Shields were never on friendly terms and that was before the whole fiasco with the former Bridge Knight.

The young Fairbrook looked about the various sites that seemed to overwhelm her as they left the safety of their camp. Everywhere she looked it seemed that some new wonderous sight was there to greet her. From the various nobles from across the world, the varied heraldries that distinguished the fabled warriors that were here to compete. The stall owners yelling out to the hurried crowd that they sought to pluck customers.

"Does the lady want a necklace?!" One merchant cried out, holding his ware in his worn hands. It was a nice enough piece, obviously well-made and well crafted. Valentina had seen better. "I have a variety of jewels that would just look lovely upon you! You don't want to miss out on this!"

The man kept speaking, exaggerating his goods. No doubt hoping to get a better price for it. He could see that she was from nobility and probably could afford a new necklace or pair of earrings. It was too bad that she stopped listen to him as soon as he started to eye her up.

"Lady Fairbrook, how about a good cup of wine?" A Gwent merchant cried out, gesturing to one of the barrels he had on display. Gwent was the home of the greatest brewers in all of Avalon and they were quite proud of that fact.

_If only they were prouder of us, the knights of the Order. _She thought, offering the merchant a smile as she shook her head at his offer. She could have any amount of wine that she could ever want, from average ale that they served in pubs to the fabled Dawn's Delight that was only brewed for the royal family of Gwent. Besides, she could not afford to waste her money on anything frivolous. She had made a promise to a friend and she would be sure to fulfill it.

_Anything to get rid of that ridiculous thing._ Valentina thought, eyeing the great sword that Reynard kept on his person. He seemed so carefree as they traversed the crowed market parked in the keep. He was eyeing each stall, giving it his evaluation in a heartbeat before moving on. She envied him that, no one was there to force him to put on a farce of interest or lecture him on his mannerisms.

However, one would be a fool to think that Reynard was not keenly aware of their surroundings. One did not get to be a sworn shield without being able to pick people out of a crowd and notice things that others would want hidden.

"See anything that strikes your fancy Reynard?" Valentina asked, eyeing the knight as he continued to whistle a merry little tune. His carefree attitude was something that she had come to value in her friend. Along with his straightforwardness, a rarity when it comes to nobility, so it was a refreshing experience to interact with someone that did not seek to placate her every need.

"I think that this place is one of the dullest places that I have ever seen." Her sworn shield responded, gesturing to the stall as if they were flies that he was trying to swipe away with his hand. "All the bells and whistles of a travelling troupe yet none of the substance that they would want you to believe that they have." He added, looking a bit disappointed.

"Surely there is some here that you think would be worthy of our patronage?" The Fairbrook asked, taking a double take on some of the merchants. Now that Reynard had pointed it out, none of the merchants seemed to really have anything that stood out. Just average stock that they were seeking to hock at the crowd in the hopes that they would be able to turn a quick profit.

_No doubt trying to take advantage of the fact that a good number of nobles from all over Avalon are here._ She thought, watching as the jeweler that tried to sell her a necklace but a few moments ago had another girl enthralled in whatever tale he was spinning. Valentina could see that the girl was falling for whatever he was telling her, how it was made from some master jeweler from Pugione and how she could not afford to pass this up. She did feel a bit sorry for the poor fool as she spent a good deal of coin on an otherwise common piece of jewelry that she would no doubt forget in but a few short weeks.

"Well, perhaps a few might be worth checking out." Reynard replied, his eyes narrowed as he looked towards the end of the line, having meet the wall which separated the stalls from the rest of the keep. No doubt wanting to keep the chaos of the merchants and their work in a secluded place. "Now, what do we have here?" He added, stepping forward with interest shining in his eyes.

Valentina followed, a little intrigued in what might have drawn the knight's attention. _One second, he is lamenting the fact that there is nothing interesting and the next he is running off. I swear, Reynard you truly do not know how to stay true to your opinions. _She thought, though equally interested.

Valentina was pushed back a bit when she ran into the armored form of her guardian. She could not see what was keeping him from moving forward, scowling as she walked around to give the knight a word and to remind him to not stop in the middle of a moving crowd. She gasped a bit when she saw what had caught Reynard's attention

In front of them was a simple stall. Nothing really distinguished it from the other tents, being a plain white and turquoise where the others were a more colorful bunch. There were no salesmen hawking his wares to all as he told them some fabricated story. However, the two that were manning the stall caught their immediate attention.

The first was a knight clad in silver armor, talking to a customer as the two eyed a blade that seemed to be well beyond the quality of any swordsmith that Valentina had ever seen. The knight said something which made the other man laughing, handing the knight a moderately sized bag as he took the blade and left.

The other occupant was easily the largest man that Valentina had ever seen. _He is even bigger than the Templar's Brass Deathstalker._ She thought, watching the smith as he hammered away at the slab of steel on his anvil.

The smith was largest enough that his head easily reached the roof of the tent, having to hunch over so that he did not tip the whole thing over. The various blades around him seemed to be, as the previous one she saw, well-crafted and suited for the hands of a seasoned warrior. This was clearly not the work of any charlatan like the others of this little marketplace. No, this man was clearly a man whose skill was no doubt superior than even that of the Parchment Knights of Keats.

Valentina watched as Reynard approached the front of the stall, getting the attention of the silver knight. He greeted him with a smile, waving his hand in a lazy attempt at a greeting. No doubt he was more used to the act of warfare than he was at playing as a merchant.

"Welcome, what can we do for you?" The knight asked, propped up against the desk. "Anything catches your eye?"

"Hello there." Reynard replied, nodding in greeting before looking past the knight to try and get a clearer look at the wares. "The name is Ser Reynard of the Order of Dawn. I am looking for someone who can perform repairs on my sword. Would your employer be up to the task?"  
"I'm sure that we can work something out." The knight answered, looking back at the smith. Valentina noted that he had not stopped at all to take note of their presence. No doubt too engrossed within his work to bother to say hello. _With blades like that I doubt that much care too much._

"The name's Jibril by the way." The knight, Jibril, replied as he offered his hand which Reynard grasped in a handshake. "Legionnaire from Saltum. Over there's Dust." He added, pointing to the giant. "He makes all the blades and I'm helping him run the stall."

"Well, I can say that you are at least more honest than some of the other shop keeps around here." Valentina said, curtseying as she approached and joined the conversation.

"Oh, those fools?" The legionnaire asked, waving off the comment. "If you are going to try and sell something than at least be honest with your customers I say. Seems to be working for us." He shrugged, pointing out his half empty racks. It appeared that even though there was no one trying to hawk their wares and announces themselves to the market that there were still doing well.

"Can I see the blade?" Jibril asked, gesturing towards the sword that Reynard was carrying. "I can't really tell you what I can do with it if I can't get a good look at it can I?" He added that charming grin of his seeming to prompt a chuckle from her sworn shield.

"That is fair enough." Her guardian replied, pulling the blade from its sheathe. He gave the old blade a twirl, almost hitting Valentina who glared at him as he handed it over to the legionnaire.

Jibril took it and gave it a once over, giving it a good look over. He dropped his grin rather quickly as he saw the various scratches and dents that the blade had all over it. He grasped the handle as it looked down the edge of the blade, shaking his head as he did so.

"I don't know what the hell has been done with this thing and I doubt Dust will either." The legionnaire responded, looking a bit disappointed as he set the blade down. "But I can tell you that this thing has seen better days."  
"I'm sure that anyone could tell you that Ser Jibril." Valentina said, the legionnaire a little taken back at the small barb that hid in her words. "Can you do anything with it is the question."

"I'm sure that we could, hell I can tell you that Dust could fix just about anything." Jibril said, gesturing at the blade once more. "It is a question of 'is it worth it?' You can only put a blade through so much before its outlived its lifetime. At this point it would simply not be worth it to try and fix it. You're better off just buying a new one."

Reynard grimaced a bit at the verdict. Valentina knew that the blade was an old and battered thing, but it still hurt a bit to see the usual flamboyant knight look down. He had found the old sword in the Arena's armory and seemed to have latched onto it.

_Well, it is better that we can take care of this now while we could. Otherwise, it might have just been Reynard's head that would have been lost rather than his sword. _Valentina thought. Trusting your life to a brittle sword was the height of folly. Any fighter, from the rogues of Pugione to the Wraiths of Hiems, would tell you that.

"Well then, what would you suggest then good ser?" The lady asked, raising one of her snow-white eyebrows in anticipation. "Surely you can recommend one of these fine blades. One of them should suit our needs easily enough." She added, gesturing to the half empty racks.

"Well, that isn't for me to say." Jibril responded, shaking his head. "You see, these blades were meant for battle. They were meant to be wielded by knights who would be willing to charge into battle without a moment's hesitation. How do I know that you won't just use it as a fancy trinket you hang above your mantle?"

"I can see why you would have a problem selling your wares in a place like this then." Reynard said, eyeing their surroundings.

This place was full to the brim with noblemen and rich merchants. Neither group would be willing to use such well forged blades for their true purpose. He could understand the reasoning why the legionnaire would be hesitant to simply sell to just anyone.

"Then what can we do to prove that we are 'worthy' of such a sword?" Valentia asked, "Should we fight you for it? Perhaps trampling you upon the battlefield should be good enough evidence."  
Jibril laughed at that, shaking his head a bit at her response. "I guess it's true what they say. 'Every Rose has it's thorn', am I right Lady Fairbrook?"

She narrowed her eyes at the comment, a little concerned. She did not remember giving the man her name so why would he know it? The lady looked to her guardian, expecting to see an equally shocked expression. However, she was disappointed to see that Reynard did not seem fazed at the potential stalker.

"How the hell do you know my name?" Valentina spat out, her eyes aflame with azure hostility.

"It would be more shocking if I did not know your name." The legionnaire shot back, looking completely at peace as she shot daggers at him with her eyes, wishing that he would be set alight. "You are the infamous White Rose of Gwent after all. But onto other matters." He added, shrugging off her hostile look as if it were nothing.

She had seen countless men cower under such a look that her mother would shoot at those that were foolish enough to provoke her. It seemed that she was still not on that level yet apparently.

"It's not up to me if you can purchase the blade or even what sword you should purchase." Jibril continued, looking back to Reynard who was just as interested in continuing their conversation.

"Then who is it up to?" The knight asked, curious as he looked about the place. He could see no one else besides the silent smith and the confident legionnaire.

"That would be up to the big lug over that." Said legionnaire replied, turning to look at his friend. "Oi, Dust, could you stop hammer away for a moment and come over here for a sec?" He added, screaming over the sound of the hammer blows.

It seemed that they were no doubt part of the reason why the swordsmith was not joining in on their conversation. Now that Valentina was paying attention to it, the sound of the hammer hitting the anvil was enough to block out a good deal of the background noise that was going on outside of the little stall.

* * *

(Dustriel POV)

Dustriel put his hammer down as soon as he heard Jibril call out to him. He had been hearing the whole conversation, not really playing it much mind. He did not care that much whether the knight of Dawn wanted to buy one of his swords. Hell, a hedge knight could walk over and buy one of his swords for all he cared. It was whether he was going to use it that he was worried about.

He remembered what he had heard growing up regarding the knights of Gwent. _Glory hounds and showoffs, at least that was what the Old Man used to always say._ He thought, giving the knight a good look over.

He shrugged as he took in the knight's form. It seemed that he at least took his training seriously if his muscular physique was anything to go by. He had to have the upper body strength to use that busted up claymore of his effectively. _At least he seems to have a good head on his shoulders._

"Welcome, the name is Dustriel Nuhera." The giant said, offering his hand as he introduced himself. The Dawn knight grasped it in turn, giving it a good shake. _Nice firm grip._ Dustriel thought, nodding in greeting as much in respect. "What can I do you for? Heard you wanted to have one of my blades."

"Aye." The knight, Reynard he recalled, responded as he looked over his selection. "I know good craftsmanship when I see it and as your friend has pointed out, I need a replacement." He continued, gesturing to the aged great sword that lay spread out on his table.

Dustriel gave the sword a good once over, his face twisting up in slight appall as he saw the state of the blade. "I think that Jibril told it true. That sword needs to go. Do you have any preferences? I assume another two-handed sword; it seems to suit you if I am being honest."

The lady that was accompanying the knight gave a little giggle at that. Dustriel was so engrossed into his analysis that he did not even notice the woman, recalling that this was the girl that he had been keeping his ear out for quite some time. It appeared that his expectations were somewhat met.

Dustriel's eyes opened in shock for a moment, taking in the awe-inspiring beauty of the noblewoman. The rumors did not exaggerate it seemed. From his long flowing silver locks, to the icy blue irises that looked up at him in slight amusement. To the well-made dress that she was garbed in and the rapier that she held sheathed on his waist. He could that that the blade was not just for show, the well-developed but lean muscles that showed years of dedication made that quite clear. This woman was a warrior, no, a knight through and through.

Dustriel knew that many nobles would be off put by such a girl. One who preferred training with swords and lances out in the field, willing to get dirty and break away from the petite form that many noblemen prized in their wives. However, it only seemed to ascent Valentina's beauty in the giant's eyes. He turned away as soon as he knew that he was starting to stare a bit too long.

The giant looked out of the corner of his eye, catching sight of Jibril's knowing grin. _Oh, I know what you are trying to do you scoundrel. _Dustriel thought, vowing to make the legionnaire pay for this. He just wanted to see him get flustered and lose his cool. Well, he would not let the Shearwards get to him.

"Well, I can certainly sell you one of mine." The giant continued, wanting to allow the awkward moment to pass by as soon as possible. Were it to continue he feared that the knights of Dawn would start to think him mad. "Can I see your hands for a moment?" He added, making a beckoning motion with his hand.

"Uh, I suppose so." Reynard said, hesitantly following the Shield's command. He stared in fascination as the giant took his hand, glancing at it for a moment before turning around and searching through the still occupied racks.

He got everything he had needed out of that one look at Reynard's hands. Couple that with what he had saw from the battered claymore that he had brought him, and he knew exactly what sword would be suited for him. It took Dustriel but a moment to find what he was looking for. He heard his two customers gasp as their beheld the sight of one of his many masterpieces.

Dustriel smiled a little as he saw the awe in the eyes of the two knights. It always brought him a bit of satisfaction to know that his work could inspire such a reaction in others. He looked down at the piece, pleased at the sight. He wanted to get one last good look at the blade before he bid it farewell. Call him sentimental but he had put care and work into everything that he forged. He had the right to be a little sentimental with them.

The blade itself was a two-handed claymore, forged from silver which was mined in Saltum. The blade itself was easily four feet long with the handle adding on another six inches. The sword seemed to bleed an ethereal glow that was accented by the eerie blue light that was common in all power sword. The only difference being that he had designed the blade to always bleed a bit of the energy into the silver, giving it to the ghostly aura it had even when on low power. He turned it off, letting the circuitry rest for a moment.

The handle was made of a sturdy brass. At the time, Dustriel had thought that the two metals would contrast well with one another and he was not disappointed to see the result. The image of a majestic stallion, a creature from Old Earth he had read about, with two horns sprouting from its head really brought the piece together. All in all, Dustriel could say with confidence that he was proud of the result.

"Wow," Reynard exclaimed, reaching to pick it but stopped himself, looking up at the smith. No doubt seeking permission to do so. Dustriel granted his request, nodding in acceptance as the man picked up the great sword. "I can say with confidence good ser that this is no doubt one of the, no THE best sword that I have ever set my sights on."

"Surely you flatter me Ser Reynard." Dustriel replied, waving off the man's praise. Let it never be said that the giant did not take pride in his work, but he knew that there was more he could have done with the blade. _The craftsman is only as good as his tools._ He thought, thinking of what he could have done were he to have forged it in a place like the Citadel in Keats. "It is just a sword at the end of the day, and it will only serve you as long as you put the effort into mastering it. Never forget, a master swordsmen can beat a man with but a wooden sword while the most well-crafted blade in the world would be wasted on a novice."  
Valentina nodded at his words, seeming to agree with his assessment. "I'll be sure to put him through his paces when we get back to camp. Now, what is it that you would be willing to part with it for? Name your price and I am sure that I can match it."

"My dear Reynard!" Jibril objected, looking up in mock appall at the sworn shield. "Having a lady pay for your weapon? Have you no shame?" He tsked, shaking his head as if ashamed of the man.

Dustriel shot his friend a look, making it clear that he did not take well to the supposed insult. Valentina only smiled a bit wider at the comment, Reynard bowing his head as if in penance for the supposed crime.

"Aye, it is true dear Jibril." Reynard lamented, going along with the farce, his lady shaking her head as she gave another giggle at their antics. "I am as poor as can be. Having been raised in a lowly knight household, what can I do but to beg for my weapons and arms? I am just lucky to be blessed with a mistress that is so kind and understanding as to grant me such a boon as this."

"That's enough of that you two." Valentina said, a stern eye that sent shivers up the spines of both knights. She looked back to Dustriel, an apologetic smile on her lips. "Forgive Reynard, he can be quite…childish when left to his own devices."

The giant only chuckled as he waved off the apology. "No need to fret, I fear that Jibril is much the same way. Now, as for the price, let us say ten gold pieces."

Valentina's eyebrows shot up at the price. _Why so low?_ Dustriel could hear, the shock as clear in her mind as it was on her face.

To be fair, ten gold pieces was a fair price for a power sword. The only reason that it was indeed so high as opposed to regular swords was, of course, because of the added circuitry and labor that went into making it effective. Ten gold pieces was a fairly common price, something that any noblemen or knight would be expected to pay for a decent sword.

"Forgive me Ser Dustriel, I did not think that I gave off the impression of a beggar." The white-haired beauty said, looking a bit miffed at the price. It was as he were purposely trying to insult her. "That blade is no doubt worth five times that much. I can pay you fifty gold pieces and not a coin less."

"I do not charge for my craftsmanship or for the leisure time that I put into forging my blades." The smith said, shaking his head at the offer. Reynard looked at the giant as if he were mad to turn down such an offer while Jibril simply sighed, no doubt expecting that answer. "I charge you ten gold because that is what you are expecting out of it."

"What do you mean?" Valentina asked, looking confused. "I expect that a good and well-crafted sword should come with a price that befits it. What is so wrong with that?"

"What you want is a sword, a blade that you will actually use as opposed to sitting it on your mantlepiece and appreciating it's beauty." Dustriel explained, "Were you a noble that wanted something pretty to show off then I would have charged you fifty. But your Ser Reynard is a knight of Gwent, he needs a sword that befits that station. If you use it the way that you are meant to then I have no trouble selling it for what you would pay an average blacksmith for his work."

"Well, be that as it may." The lady said, understanding in her eyes. "I cannot allow you to put the time and resources into such a work of art." She pulled out her purses and pulled two silver out, the bag she set on the table. It gave a good _thunk_ when it hit the table, the sound of dozens of gold coins clinking together made it quite clear that she would not be taking no for an answer.

"How about this?" Reynard asked, stepping forward. "You are a knight of Tailte Abhann are you not?"

"That I am, what of it?" The giant asked, feigning confusion as to the question. He had already heard what the knight had in mind, so it did not surprise him what Reynard was thinking.

"That means that we'll no doubt meet in the joust." Reynard continued, a grin on his face as he thought of the challenge. "If I manage to beat you, then you will have to take the fifty coins and that will be the end of that. However, if you manage to best me then I will pay you the ten. Along with that, I will pay for whatever precious metals you might want to use in your next blade. How does that sound?"  
"I think that that sounds like a grand idea." Jibril said, butting into the conversation once again. Dustriel gave the legionnaire an annoyed look, ready to accept before being cut off. "I hate to say it, but Dust is not one for flattery of any sort. Sometimes you have to beat it into his fat head a bit." He added, chuckling a bit at the look that his friend was shooting down at him.

"Well, at least keep the gold until we meet again." Valentina requested, a slight plea that the smith could not ignore. "If we do meet on the tourney fields, then I suppose that we will just have to stomp you into the dirt and make you take the gold." She continued, a fierce look in her eyes as she all but challenged the giant.

"If that is the way that you want it then who am I to stop you." Dustriel said, gesturing for Reynard to pick up the blade. He picked up the bag of gold, the weight a little too heavy for one of his commissions but he would wait for that to be fixed. "Take her, she's yours."

Reynard picked up the silver claymore, giving it a few swings and holding it with but his right hand before switching it to his left. "It's so light, you wouldn't expect it from the length but damn. Even has my heraldry upon, it was as if it was made for me." He added, looking down at the handle which looked like the horned stallion, like the one that he had found on Guard's Etcher.

_Well, almost the same. _He thought, seeing that the new handle sported two horns as opposed to the one that was on the old sword.

Dustriel chuckled at the comment, "I thank you for your kind words. The only thing that I am going to regret is having to give you back your gold when this is all over."  
"We'll see about that good ser," Valentina replied, turning to leave with Reynard in tow. "I will have to send my condolences when I put you face first into the dirt. It will be mighty embarrassing for your Bridge Knight to see her kin lie down in the dirt."  
"We'll have to see I'll suppose." The giant said, "But until then, we will have to wait. I hope that you enjoy the rest of your day."

The pair bid the two knights farewell. Reynard had a silly grin on his face as he held onto the handle of his new sword, not willing to let go. Valentina curtseying to the smith, gracing him with a small but sincere smile as she followed after her companion.

"Don't you worry." Jibril slide back in, no doubt wanting to capitalize on the last word. "Dust will be waiting for you my lady, with beaded lips."

Dustriel looked back at the pair, hoping that the two did not hear Jibril's words. To his dismay, the white-haired beauty giggled a bit when she heard the legionnaire's words. He sighed, bringing his hand up to smack his friend's face into the ground.

"What the hell was that for?!" Jibril cried out, springing back up as he rubbed the spot where he was struck and glaring up at the giant.

"You know exactly what it was that you were doing didn't you?" Dustriel asked, giving his friend a stern eye as he looked down at him. "What in the name of the Witch Queen were you thinking?"

"That if I waited for you to say anything at all that I would be here till the next tourney would be held here." The legionnaire added, raising an eyebrow as if to challenge the giant to say that his words were wrong. "Besides, did you see the look on her face? You cannot tell me that she wasn't enjoying that banter a bit."  
"Still, you could have trusted me to have the confidence to talk to her at some point." Dustriel said, turning back to his tools and looking them over a bit. "I'm sure that I would have spoken to her at some point."  
"With the smithing contest today, the jousting for the next two and the grand melee after that, coupled with the farewell banquet what time were you thinking of?" Jibril pointed out, looking at the giant with a blank look on his face and his hands on his hips. He sighed. "Damn it Dust, I love you like you were my own brother but I also know you just as well. My guess is that you were hoping for, maybe, a dance at the banquet?"  
Dustriel's frame stiffened as he heard the question, cursing a bit in his mind. _How the hell did he know that?_ He thought, already knowing the answer. When you spend enough time around another, as much as the two of them have, you tend to learn a lot about how the other person thinks. "Well, what would be wrong with that? Sounds like a good enough plan if I do say so myself."

"The problem with that is that every imbecile that will want to have a shot with her is going to be thinking the same thing." Jibril said, easing up a bit when he saw how on the nose he was about the situation. "Try to talk to her a bit, get to know one another and I assure you that you will be the only person that she will want to talk to that night."  
The giant seemed to ponder Jibril's words for a moment, his eyes narrowed as he looked down at the worn anvil. "Are you sure that this will work?"  
"Trust me on this." The legionnaire replied, putting a hand on the giant's frame and giving him an encouraging pat on the back. "I know women like you know your smithing. Just follow my advice and I promise you that you will have your Lady of Hope and Devotion."

Dustriel was silent for a bit, pondering the proposal before giving a slight nod. "Alright, I am trusting you on this Jibril." He said, looking up at the sun before turning back to the legionnaire. "But that will have to wait until later. As you said, we must be getting to the Street of Arms if we are to make it to the smithing contest. You know I have been looking forward to this for a good while."  
"That I do." Jibril admitted, nodding along at the words. "Maybe you can finally make me that sword you've been promising me. Hell, if I can beat you here then I am sure that everyone on Avalon will know who the superior smith is once and for all."  
"Keep dreaming, you overconfident peacock." The giant said, grinning back at the legionnaire as they closed their stall and started to head out.

They noticed that only a few others in the market were heading out as well, no doubt the others were just not skilled enough to trust that they would have a shot at winning.

Dustriel did not blame them. After all, with the two of them it was all but assured that one of them would walk away with the prize. _And that is going to be me._

* * *

The two knights had to force themselves through the crowd when they finally reached the forges. Normally, the area would no doubt be dead and devoid of anyone except for the smiths that worked and toiled for the Golden Helms. Dustriel could tell that the forges were regularly worked, the anvils quite worn and the tools could use some maintenance, but that was to be expected because of how much work was no doubt put into them.

_I cannot count the number of broken swords and dented shields I have had to fix because some new recruits did not heed the advice of his fellow knights._ The giant thought, smiling at the thought of some noblemen's son getting arrogant and breaking their weapons. _Knowing the Helms, I would not be shocked at the thought._

"Quite a crowd don't you think Dust?" Jibril asked, his ever-present smirk aimed up at the giant who grunted back his agreement.

The two noticed the various craftsmen that had come in order to showcase their skills. Many they could see were no doubt from Autumne, easy to enjoy and enter a tournament that was hosted in your own kingdom. The fancy and gold imbedded tools that they sported no doubt looked nice, but Dustriel doubted that they would be of much help than any other.

Other than the smiths of the Kingdom of Fall, there was a good mixture of craftsmen from all over Avalon. Some sprouted long beards and seemed to have a cheerful air about them, some looked to have a more serious air about them as they clasped their hands over the winged serpent that was the deity to the people of Anguis. However, none stood out exceptionally except for the one at the end.

Dustriel could tell right from the first glance that he was not a man to be trifled with. Oh he no doubt hid it well, from the simple and worn clothes that he wore to the tattered hammer that he had placed on his table. But he could tell from the man's spectacles, looking quite easily as any other to the untrained eye, that this was a man who trained at the Citadel that the Parchment Knights of Keats called home.

Dustriel did not know how he knew, like many things that he was instinctive towards, but he could tell that those seemingly simple inches of glass held great power. He could tell that they had the ability to quickly analyze and map out what the wield wanted to forge according to what was inputted into them. _A deadly advantage in a contest of forging._ He thought, slightly respecting the man for having the guts to try and get an unfair edge over his opponents.

The giant did not say anything about the cheat, wanting to show that it took much more than a simple edge or understanding of some unknown technology to win. No, he would show the cunning scholar that he knew what his game was about, and he would happily put him down for it.

"Well, I wish you luck in the battle to come." Dustriel said, nodding down at Jibril as he set off for his designated spot in the lineup. "You are going to need it."

"Ha, say what you will but know that whatever you forge will pale in comparison to mine." Jibril snipped back, a confident grin on his face to match the certainly in his friend's eye. "Just remember to inscribe my name onto my new sword when we are done with this whole thing."

Dustriel nodded back at the request, silently accepting the challenge. He had always known the legionnaire to not be one to back down from a challenge. It would feel nice to knock his ego down a few pegs once this was all over. _Perhaps I will have to name that sword of his Victory's Grasp. If only to spite him of course._

The giant walked to his chosen workbench, one of the furnaces which breathed the fiery breath of the forge as the rest. He made sure that he would be beside the bespectacled scholar, nodding in greeting and was coolly answered in kind. He looked over what tools he had brought with him, content with the simple selection that he had taken with him.

_Hammer, prongs, chisel, tong, everything is here._ Dustriel thought, nodding to himself as he set them out. It was not a minute after that he was done that the sound of trumpets played their announcement.

All the smiths stopped what they were doing, playing attention to the short and bald man that stepped forward. He stopped a few good yards away from the assembled contestants. The smiths could already see that the man was sweating profusely even though he stood a good distance from the forges, wiping his brow. He sighed for a second, breathing in before speaking to the assembled crowd in a loud and booming voice that did not exactly fit with his short stature.

"My good people, today, we are gathered here in order to witness the skills of some of the greatest craftsmen in all of mighty Avalon!" He cried out, the crowd cheering out for a second as they called out the name of their chosen champion. The man raised his hand, the crowd dying down as they continued to listen. "Now, how exactly are we to judge them? These fine men who have created such wonderous and beautiful creations with but their hands?" He asked, allowing the following silence to linger for a few seconds. No doubt wanting to add to the suspense.

"Well, that is quite simple." He continued, smiling a small wolfish grin. "Our craftsmen will be allowed to make whatever they wanted with the materials that we shall be gifting to them." He said, gesturing to the fully stocked shelves that stood behind him. "However, they will only have until the sun sets in order to make us something that no one here will ever forget." He finished, several gasps that came from the crowd making it quite clear how difficult such a task would be.

Dustriel could relate to their worries. It was already noon so sundown would only allow them but a short eight hours. That may seem a good bit of time but when trying to craft a masterpiece, something that could rival the works of the most skilled smiths in all the land, it was quite a challenge. Couple that with the fact that no one here would stop their work for fear of falling behind their competition and he could understand how it would look on the outside.

However, as the giant look to and fro as he sized up his competition as if seeking out any despair at the news. He could tell that they all only had fierce determination in their heart. Just like he did.

"Begin whenever you are ready." The announcer said, his smile a bit devious. "Show us what you are capable of dear smiths of Avalon. Show us why you should be remembered as one of the greatest craftsmen that ever lived."

The assembled smiths swiftly got to work. It seemed that they all had a good idea of what they wished to forge, no doubt thinking long on their designs so that they could spring into action. The hall was soon filled with the sound of metal striking metal, of ancient machinery turning and helping with the labor of their workers. To Dustriel, there were few sounds that could be as soothing as the sound of a forge at work.

_It reminds me of home._ He thought, picking up the bit of silver that he was able to swipe from the shelves. A few bars of brass laid idle on his worktable. If his plan did come to fruition, then he would have enough time to work on that.

Dustriel looked to his fellow smiths, seeing nervousness and agitation in many of their faces. He could understand. It would be quite daunting to have to work so long without any sort of break, having to constantly look over one's shoulder in fear that the competition might seek to cut ahead or try so underhanded tactic.

To the giant however, he had no such fear inside of him. If anything, he was perfectly at peace with the whole thing. As far as he was concerned, those that held such fears and doubts were the ones that were not confident enough in their work.

_It is always best to take things at their own pace. To try and rush them will only leave you with a weakened result. _He thought, hammering at a constant and steady pace as he shaped the silver into something grand. He knew already what he would make. The giant smirked as he thought of the irony.

The assembled crowd seemed to be eerily silent as they watched the smiths go about their business. Though many were drawn to the seemingly carefree giant as he went about his work, his eyes only set on the raw metal that he held on his anvil. Not a word was spoken as they stared at the smith as he worked, mesmerized by the sight.

The way that he held his hammer, the steady beat that he beat his hammer and the steaming of water were the only sounds that broke through the silence. The way that the Shield worked, the way that he forged, it was like something out of the ancient fables. It was like watching old Vaul beat down on his adamantine anvil, the sparks singing to the smith in a way that someone who had never forged a day in his life could ever understand.

Dustriel paid them all no mind. To him, the crowd might as well not be there. There was only the silver in front of him and the hammer in his hand. They were his entire world, the only things that he needed to understand. A drop of sweat pouring down his face, the only evidence that even he was not immune to the heat of the forge. He paid it no mind.

It had been hours before he deemed it adequate. Dustriel dumped the sword into the buckle of water that laid next to his table, a roaring steam rising from the barrel. He let his creation breathe for a second, knowing that this was one of the most important parts of the process. At exactly a minute he pulled the blade from its watery confines, placing it on the table. He gave it a look over, nodding to himself. It would suffice.

Dustriel then looked to the bar of brass that he had set out. He picked it up, looking outside. _Judging by the light, I would say that I have but a few hours left._ He thought, nodding to himself as he got to work.

"What is this?" The announcer cried out, as enthralled as the rest of the crowd by the skill that the giant smith went about his work. "It looks as if this is not the only piece of work that Master Nuhera is going to be presenting to us today! However, will he have enough time to make these two into masterpieces? Or simply good enough? How good does he think that he is that he can afford to split his attention between two works?"

The giant paid the noble no mind, running through his head what he wanted to make. He looked up to the crowd, seeing the banner of the golden knight upon a varactyl hanging proudly. Opposite to it was the personal heraldry of house Somberset, the dragon which laid upon a hoard of treasure, a line of smoke oozing out of its nose as it slept.

_Ah, that is it!_ Dustriel thought, smiling to himself at the thought. He picked up his hammer, setting back to work as he mapped out the design. It would be a little on the nose, however he knew that it would no doubt be well received by the smallfolk of Autumne.

Once again, the people paid no mind to the rest of the contestants, too immersed in watching the giant work his magic. Many were thinking of trying to hire the smith already, thinking about how much it would cost to convince the Shield to come and swear his service to their house so as to hoard him away from their rivals. It was too bad that the giant had no interest in such a patronage. He was simply here to show his work and then to return to whence he came.

Thankfully, it had taken a little less time than the silver sword. The piece of armor that he set in the water would take a bit more time to get the finer details set in. However, Dustriel was sure that he would have both done by the allotted time. _Let them see what a smith of Tailte Abhann is capable of. _

The giant pulled the brass helm up, looking it over for a second as he analyzed it. It was a good start, the appendages which hung from the side a good reasonable size. But he needed to finalize the details. He wanted to make sure that it looked perfect, something that would stand out among the crowd.

Dustriel picked up his chisel, leaning over the table as he set to putting on the final touches to his masterpieces. The time was soon approaching, and he knew that he would soon have to show his work to be evaluated. Until then he would make sure that it would be as lifelike as he could make it.

As the sun finally set upon Highcalere Keep, bathing the ancient castle in a sea of orange the contest was finally called to stop.

"Alright, that is it everyone!" The announcer cried, looking out at the sun as it finally set. He had been so enamored by the giant's work that he almost forgot to give the call. It seemed a shame to stop him from working.

Speaking of which, said giant put down the sword that he was sharpening on the grindstone as he put it back on his table, mimicking the other smiths as he stood in front of his work desk.

"Now, I know that you will all be surprising us with what you have made here today." The announcer continued, gesturing towards a few attendants that stood behind him, holding bundles of cloth. "However, only one may be named the Champion of the Forge here today. And he will receive a mighty fine prize." He said, gesturing for one of the attendants to present what he had. He pulled away the shroud to reveal a well-crafted golden figure of a knight upon a varactyl.

"Not just that," The announcer said, his wolfish grin seeming to grow even larger as he continued. "But he shall have his work presented to Grand Master Terryn himself. No doubt he would want the best smith in all the land to attend to the needs of our benevolent golden protectors."

Dustriel and Jibril locked eyes with one another, the latter rolling his silver orbs in a manner that much simplified what the giant was thinking. They were here merely to compete and to claim the prize for themselves.

_If that thing truly is pure gold, then I could get a pretty penny for it._ Dustriel thought, giving the figure a look over once as the contestants started to showcase their work.

It seemed that despite the lack of time that everyone was able to get their projects done. However, were Dustriel to complain about anything, it would be about the lack of style and finesse that was present in the assembled projects. Even Jibril's hand crafted bolt revolver that he made suffered from this. He could understand the struggle that these smiths no doubt went through, wanting to make sure that their work was at least done before they tried to add in any stylization. An emblem here or there, a personal mark of ownership, all were present but not to the level that he felt it needed to stand away from the crowd.

"Now, what did you forge my good ser?" The announcer asked, turning to the Parchment Knight. Said knight pushed up the spectacles that he wore, giving a slight smirk as he showed off his work. The crowd gasped when they witnessed the beauty that laid in the scholar's hands. Dustriel nodded in acceptance, knowing it was only proper to recognize good craftsmanship when he saw it.

The dagger was of a slick ivory, the white of the metal contrasted well with the black handle that it rests upon. The quill and parchment that was the insignia of the knights of Keats was plain to see on the handle, the quill's head seeming to ooze ink. When the knight's finger passed over the handle it produced a spectral aura around the edge of the dagger.

"I call it the Moonblade." The Parchment Knight said, looking his work over with the love that only a craftsman could have for his creation. "I trust that you can see why?"

"Of course, such an otherworldly beauty to it!" The announcer cried out; the sentiment seemingly shared as the crowd started to whisper amongst themselves. Dustriel grunted a bit when he saw the man's finger slip off the activation rune, the knight grinned smugly at the giant's response.

"Well, it appears that we have one last contestant!" The announcer cried out, walking over to the giant. The nobleman had to crane his neck up to meet the gaze of the giant, his grin twitching a bit when he realized how far exactly the giant had to look down at him. "Now, what have you made for us today good sir? I know that whatever it was that it could easily rival this lot."

"I did not have all the time that I would have wanted to have worked on it." Dustriel said, pulling the sword from the table as he presented it to the judge. Everyone there looked upon the smith's work with nothing short of complete shock on their faces. The only one that did not was the legionnaire who only stood there, chuckling at the reactions to his friend's work.

The blade was a clean silver with a obsidian handle. The visage of a snarling gryphon was at the end of the handle, a pair of silver eyes staring back at those that looked upon it. Were it not forged from obsidian than it would not be shocking to see this construct spring to life and try to fly off. Of the blade itself it was obviously battle worthy, the shining edge of the silver only enhanced by the contrast with the black handle.

"T-This is simply amazing!" The announcer cried, too shocked for words as he looked over the work of art. For truly that was what the blade was, something that one of the heroes of old would have used to slay some great beast. "I think that it is quite clear to see who exactly is the winn-."

"Forgive me dear sir, but you haven't seen all the work that has been made today." Dustriel said, smiling down at the god smacked expression on the noble's face, patting the other cloth bundle that lay on his work desk.

"Oh, yes what else do you have to show us good ser?" The noble asked, eagerness showing clear on his face. "What other great construct do you have for us? I doubt that it will be good enough to outdo what you have already shown us."  
The giant only smiled in response, ripping the cloth off of the piece of armor as he revealed it to the crowd. There were numerous gasps of astonishment as they saw what he was hiding. Some of the other contestants barked out laughs while others only shook their heads in dismay. The Parchment Knight glared openly behind his glasses, gritting his teeth as he saw that he was clearly outdone. Jibril laughed when he was what the work was, shaking his head in amusement.

The light shone clearly off the brass full helm that laid on the giant's worktable. It was a good work to be sure, the metalwork and the craftsmanship clearly above any of even the best craftsmen assembled. However, it was the style in which it was forged that drew the attention of the crowd. Long and curvy horn sprouted from the sides, mimicking the horns of the great brass dragon that the Somberset family based their heraldry off of. The eyes shaped in the size of great oval, the nostrils at the end of the snout clearly defined.

All in all, it would be something that any knight would be proud to wear.

It also was quite clearly meant to act as a message to the grandmaster of the Golden Helms. Whether as a form of jest or compliment, it had the effect of drawing the attention of every noble in the room who got over their shock quite quickly. Then they started to yell offers at the top of their voices.

"Ser, I'll pay you one hundred gold for that helm!" One noble cried, leaning forward as he tried to get a better look at it. "Come and work for me and I will grant you a keep to call your own and serfs to call your own!"  
"Ha, is that all that you can offer Ostler?" Another noble asked, quickly dismissing the offer with a wave of his hand. "I'll grant you a place at my court and any noblewoman that you have your eyes set on if you come serve me."

"Now now, that is quite enough of that." The announcer cried out, seeking to put the offers down before things started to escalate too much. "Please wait until the contest it called before giving out offers. It would not be fair to the other competitors."  
"Wait for it be called?" One of the grinning smiths asked, astonishment in his voice. "I think that it is clear to everyone here who the winner is." He said, pointing to the giant. "If any many can smith like that then he must have the touch of the spirits upon him. Hell, go ahead and say what we all already know then."  
The announcer shot the smith a flat look, no doubt a little annoyed that the man decided to interrupt him before he could finish. "Now, the winner of the smithing contest of the Grand Tourney is Ser Dustriel Nuhera, of the Shields of the River!" He exclaimed, gesturing to the giant who gave a little bow.

One of the attendants stepped forward, handing the smith his prize. He looked it over for a second, noticing by the look and the weight that it was indeed true solid good.

"Thank you, my good man." Dustriel said, smiling at the attendant who looked a little shocked at the thanks. It was not every day that a noble would thank a common servant.

"Would you be willing to deliver something for me?" The giant asked, picking up the helm.

"I suppose so, what would you have me do?" The attendant asked, looking a little shocked.

"Would you mind giving this to Grandmaster Terryn?" Dustriel asked, handing the dragon helm to the man. "Tell him that it is a gift from a common smith. Who knows, maybe he will have it outfitted and melded into his power armor."

"O-Of course ser, right away." The announcer said, stepping to walk away in order to do his task.

"Wait, you forgot something." The giant said, depositing a few silver coins into the man's hands. "I pay people who do favors for me"  
The attendant had nothing to say, only stopping to bow to the giant before he ran off in order to fulfill his wish.

"Now, as the official match is now finished, you are all free to go about your business." The announcer said, bowing to the assembled nobles. "I thank you all for coming here and bid you good day. If any of our smiths caught your attention, please direct your questions to them." He finished, walking off to the sides to not get in the way.

Immediately after the announcer closed the event, the group of nobles rushed off, pulling and shoving one another in order to try and get as close to the giant as they could. To have such a man working for them, to craft their weapons and armor for their men, it was something that anyone of them would have killed for.

"Ser Dustriel, would you consider staying in Autumne and serving the royal court?" One of the nobles asked, eagerness in his voice. "I am certain that I can easily convince King Giraudus to make you his royal blacksmith!"  
"I thank you for the offer but-" Dustriel started, only to be cut off by another noble who shouted another offer at him. He looked over to where the other smiths were, his eyes begging silently for help with his predicament.

Some of the others seemed a little upset that he was getting all the attention, no doubt they wanted some of the commissions that were being offered to him. Others were openly laughing at his situations, leaning on each other as they filled the hall with their playful jeers. However, the one that Dustriel was truly hoping would help, his good friend Jibril, only waved at him and mouthed the words 'Good luck' before turning and walking off.

Dustriel sighed as he endured the torture, giving one last look out at the doors. His eyes widened as he saw an elderly man there, his crimson haired dulled with age and his eyes speaking of great heart ache. He was clapping a bit when he saw the young giant win the contest.

The emblem of the nereid warrior with the spear in her hand clear to see to the young Nuhera.

**So, what did you all think? I know that I am throwing a lot of characters at you guys in such a small timeframe but as I said they will all be relevant to the overall plot.**

**What did you all think of Valentina? She is one of my favorite characters to write and I think that she contrasts well with our resident Primarch. For those of you who say that Dust is not acting like a Primarch should in regard to her, how many relationships are actually explored in canon in regard to the Primarchs? Excluding Fulgrim's concubines (which, let's be honest, he only has ever loved himself), this is uncharted territory for any Primarch. Most of them have knowledge essentially downloaded into their brains so something that they have virtually no experience with would be nerve wrecking.**  
**Now, onto my cliff note for the chapter!**

**The Parchment Knights of Keats are known for their great skill with technology, harnessing and learning all that they could to what scraps of technology could be found on Avalon. In the days of old they were simply researchers and mercenaries, men and women who simply wished to be left alone to their craft, but as they gained in knowledge and resources the nobles of Keats took notice. The Parchment Knights were elevated to the knightly order of Keats and were allowed great prestige if they protected their lands and shared whatever knowledge they could with their overlords. This fostered a sense of resentment among the men, hating that they were essentially forced to fight and die for battles that were not their own. So thus only begrudgingly shared their weapons and most importantly, their power armor variants. It is said that the Parchment Knights are the only ones that know the secrets behind the technology that the knightly orders of Avalon use, their insights allowing them to tinker and change them in a variety of ways. Because of this, they are commissioned by many who want their craftsmanship for themselves. However, they must pay the steep prices that the knights of Keats tag onto whatever they make, solidifying their monopoly on any power armor without argument.**

**Sigil: A piece of parchment with a quill dipped in ink**

**Motto: Knowledge at any cost**

**Country: Keats**


	11. Chapter 11

**So, here we are again. How are we all doing? Hopefully good, I for one am happy to once again give you an update on the adventures of Dustriel and his loyal companions upon mighty Avalon!**

**Also, I find myself in a bit of a conundrum right now. A friend of mine is giving me his old unopened Chaos Space Marines. It was a hard decision on what I should make them, but I think in the end (thanks to Mojo once again) I was able to decide. Man, our hobby is one in which you must really stick to your guns and just trust your tastes.**

**Anyways, onto the chapter! I am sure that you will be seeing a familiar name here in a little while.**

Dustriel looked out upon the tourney fields, excitement coursing in his veins as he readied himself. This was where things would truly be getting bloody. There was nothing more important to a tourney than the jousting event after all.

It did not matter who won the grand melee, it did not matter who won the smithing competition, it did not matter who held the bloody tourney. The only thing that did was who stood out on top at the end of the jousts.

This was the competition that made legends. Those that were nameless knights could hope to gain their titles here. If one really wished to show what they had to the world, this was where it was done.

The giant looked to Jibril, noticing a similar look of anticipation in the legionnaire's eyes. He gave a nod to his friend as he readied himself. He at least had one thing to look forward to at the beginning of this contest.

_At least Jibril can no longer keep his coat of arms under wraps._ Dustriel thought, smiling as he picked up his helm.

He watched as Alanas saddled up Viatorem, allowing a small nod of approval as he noticed the boy performed the task flawless. He remembered when the boy could hardly place the leather straps under his partner's belly, shaking his head as he watched.

_Now look at him. _The giant thought, patting the boy upon the head once he was done. "Good job Alanas. I cannot tell you how proud I am to be here with you. Hopefully, by the next time that one of these runs around that it will be you standing here with your own squire."

"Thank you Master." Alanas said, blushing a bit at the praise. "However, I hope that that time will not be for a while. I am happy to serve under you as long as you have need of me."

"Keep talking like that and I will never let you be knighted." Dustriel warned, wagging his finger at the lad, prompting the boy to chuckle at the gesture. "Besides, at least we'll know that it was a Shield that got to win this whole thing instead of someone. Like say, a certain tricky legionnaire. Won't you agree?"

"Yes Master." The Amberton said, looking over to said legionnaire who was busy polishing his own gear. "Why is he even being allowed the ride with you all? I thought that only knights were able to do so."

"That would be because Jibril is a knight my boy." The giant said, looking over his line of lances for a brief second. _Black on turquoise, fitting._ He thought, pleased at the selection.

Alanas looked a bit shocked at the news, his eyes widened at the announcement. "When was this?" He asked, looking eager for words.

"Lord Commander Jeremiah did it once we ran into him not too long after we arrived." Dustriel admitted, turning to look Viatorem for a second. "He always said that he wanted his Father to knight him. That sentiment was something that Mother respected and thus he was. To be honest, were it not for that stipulation than Jibril would have been knighted long ago."

Their conversation was cut short as the two noticed the arrival of a new figure approaching their station. The familiar sight of the slim obsidian clad knight was something that all they were familiar with. Jibril turned to notice the figure, bowing deeply as he saw his Master grace them with their presence.

"I trust that you boys are preparing in due fashion?" Catherine asked, taking her helmet off, her crimson hair tousled around as she graced the boys with her signature smile.

"We are Mother." Dustriel said, returning said smile with one of his own. It always put him in a good mood to see his Mother. Say what you will of him, but he would never be ashamed to admit that he was a bit eager to prove his worth to her. "I believe that we will be prepared in but a few more minutes. How are the line ups looking?"

"From what I have been able to gather it should be every knight whose name is worthy of mention there." Catherine said, accepting her son's words with a nod. "The Cockatrice, Ser Merek 'Ice Veins', The Red Rose of Gwent. Hell, even the Greedy Dragon himself has deemed it appropriate to grace us with his entry. Though if he had decided to not compete then he would have been viewed as not but a weakling."

Dustriel looked excited at the list of names. They were some of the most well-known names throughout the kingdoms. Each a respected warrior of his order. It would feel good to test his skill against those whose names already had been etched into the history of Avalon.

"Do you think that we have anything to worry about?" Jibril asked, stepping forward in order to join the conversation. 'Surely it should not be in doubt that it will be one of us that wins."

"Do not allow your confidence to become arrogance Jibril." Catherine scolded, levelling the legionnaire with a smile that would put any glare to shame. "These are men who have been fighting against legends for longer than you have been alive."

"Of course, Master, I'll keep that in mind." The legionnaire said, a shivering going down his spine as he looked away from his teacher. It seemed that even Jibril had learned when it was not wise to push their Lord Bridge Knight.

"Will you be competing as well Mother?" Dustriel asked, looking intrigued at the prospect. He had always known her to be the more levelheaded of their number so it would be unlikely that she would be willing to jump into the fray with them. But it never hurt to ask.

"No, I think that I will be sitting this one out." Catherine said, shaking her head in response. "Tournaments like these are for the young and the glory seekers. Besides, we have you in the ranks so I believe that we shall be quite fine without me.

The giant looked a little disheartened but nodded in acceptance. "Aye, I'll be sure to represent the Shields well then. I know that you wouldn't have me disgracing us in front of our rivals after all."  
"That I would not." Catherine said, stepping forward. She cupped his cheek, smiling up at him with that serene smile of her. "However, I do not think that I shall ever be disappointed in your acts. No matter what foolishness you decide to get up to."

Dustriel smiled back at that before covering his face with his helmet. The regal features of the Nuhera hidden behind the unyielding obsidian that the Shields had called home for centuries now forged to shield the knight from harm, even though he was so far away from the River.

The company headed out of their little camp, heading off to the stands so that they could see who exactly they would be facing.

As they continued, they ran into the many different fighters that they would be facing in the upcoming matches. The winged serpent which devoured its own tail seemed to be prevalent as they passed the nearby tents. Dustriel could make out a large figure tending to his mount, the visage of the devil of their religion staring back at him as he stared on.

The metal feathers meshed well with the all too large eyes forged upon the helmet. The cockatrice was a being that the Church stated was their ultimate evil, a monster that sought to only petrify and turn to stone all that it encountered. Ironic that one of their most famous knights had chosen the beast as his coat of arms.

The giant gave a nod to the knight, receiving one in turn as he went on his way. Dustriel thought that he would be an interesting fight.

After that they encountered the icy northerners as they forced their way closer to their objective. Here and there they could see many warriors having a pint before heading off to the tourney stands, a small stagger in their walk. It seemed that they were confident enough in their abilities that they did not mind one last drink before their jousts.

_Either that or they just do not care. _Dustriel thought, a small smile as he saw a pair of Wraiths clap each other upon the back and down their drinks. It seemed that despite their laid-back nature that they still seemed to share the bonds of brotherhood that every knight should know.

"Ah, is that the infamous Serene Smile that I see!" A voice called out, Catherine's face twisted into a small grimace before molding it back into her 'infamous' smile. A large and bulky knight stepped forward; a big grin stretched out upon his face as he walked towards them.

Dustriel could see by the belt that he had adorned upon his shoulders, a great beast of a doom boar, that the man was no stranger to a hunt. Normally he would have written such an individual off as a showy noble and be done with it. However, the way in which he held himself was not at all like that of nobility.

He seemed to present himself in an approachable enough manner, the men around him obvious in their respect as they parted way for him. This was a man that was used to leading in the front and being in the thick of things. Neither of which could be said of any of the nobility of Hiems.

"Ah, Ice General Merek, it is good to see you." Catherine said, granting the man a small bow. "How do you do this day?"

"Bloody plowing hot." Merek replied, shivering a bit as he readjusted the pelt on his shoulders. "I swear, I can never understand how you lot can take it."

"Well, not all of our were raised in the freezing snows of the north." The Bridge Knight said, chuckling a bit at the northerner's discomfort. "Maybe if you got rid of that hideous thing then you wouldn't feel so terrible."

Dustriel could tell that his Mother was putting on a show for the Ice Wraith. There had never been good relations with their kind, too violent and bloodthirsty she had called them. He had remembered tales of how some of their raids had tried to beat down their gates only to be slain and pushed into the rapids below. _Then why the cheery demeanor? _He thought, confused by Merek's outlook. It was as if he was greeting an old friend.

"Never." Merek said, waving off the thought, looking past the woman at the rest of her companions. His eyes widened as he took in the giant, his mouth opening wide in shock for a moment before barking out a laugh. "Now, who the plowing hell are you man? Don't think I've ever seen you at one of these." He continued, looking over at Catherine for an explanation. "What the hell do you feed them to get 'em this big?"

"Forgive me Ser Merek," Catherine said, her smile flickering for a second as she silently cursed in her mind. "This is my son, Dustriel Nuhera, a knight of Tailte Abhann and sworn to the Iron River."

Dustriel could see the small amount of shock in the man's eyes, looking him over for a second before his grin grew wider. Apparently, he had not been disappointed at what he was looking for.

"Ah, I fought your namesake once." The Ice Wraith said, putting his hand over his beard. The giant could feel the amount of respect that he felt in that moment, thinking of the man who once shared his name. "He was a good man. A bit naïve, fool through and through, but he was damn good with his blade. You know it was I who gave him that name of his. Old Keen Edge, for the way he sliced me to ribbons." The man continued, tracing a line across his chest, from his right shoulder to his left hip.

"Yes, I heard that he was quite skilled." Dustriel said, a bit of reverence in his voice as he spoke of the man that would have been an uncle to him. "I hope that I can live up to the expectations that such a name carries."

"Ah well, I won't keep you lot any longer." Merek said, waving the group goodbye as he went to join his men. His eyes stopped on Catherine, "Remember what my words Nuhera, I would hate to have to dishonor Keen Edge's memory knowing that I'd hadn't been the one to send him to the next life or that I didn't do the next closest thing."

Catherine said nothing, merely smiling back at him as he left. It dropped the instance that he was out of sight, a scowl sprouting as she silently cursed to herself.

"Mother, what is wrong?" The giant asked, a little caution in his words. He knew the woman's fiery temper and he knew it best not to direct it towards himself. "Was he threatening you?"

"No, nothing of that sort." She replied, waving off his concerns. "Just an old offer of aid, nothing more. It seems that while Jeremiah and I have decided to allow my brother's bones to rest that Merek still clings onto the memory."

"Why is that?" Jibril asked, a little confused. "I never heard of the two being particularly close with one another."

"The northerners have a funny way of showing their thanks." Catherine explained, continuing her walk towards the fields. The three boys followed her, not wanting to be left behind. "What my brother did all those years ago is something that Merek will neither forget nor will he forgive. Dustriel let him live after their fight, it was no contest who was the superior fighter that day."

"Why would he need to forgive the fact that he was spared?" Dustriel asked, confused by the notion.

"Their way of thinking is quite different from our own." She explained, turning to look back at him. "To them there is nothing but their honor as fighters. Not as knights. That is key as they see any fight as being honorable if the fight is good. Win or lose if they fought with everything that they had then honor is gained on both sides."

"Then what was the problem?" The giant asked, still a bit unsure of the situation. _The way that Merek had spoken, it seemed he did not hold a grudge against him._

"Because by their traditions my brother had held back." Catherine said, frowning a bit at the thought as she scoffed. "Because he allowed Merek to slink back to Devilshold with his tail between his legs. However, that seemed to only excite him even more and he was ready for a rematch as it were. If he was planning another raid or simply a fight in a tourney, no one can say. We all know how my brother's story ended."

Dustriel nodded at that, understanding coming through. _He was denied the chance to regain his lost honor. I always heard that the northerners took such things much more seriously than others do. Then the next best thing to do would have been to…_

"He plans on attacking during the tourney?" The giant asked himself, dismissing the thought as soon as it appeared in his mind. No, then he would have not said anything and just attacked when no one would be expecting it.

"Don't think much on what old Ice Veins is thinking." Catherine said, her normal smile back in place as she saw her son's confusion. "As I said before, the Ice Wraiths take their honor very seriously but the only thing that they crave more is a good fight. They have always seen the Golden Helms as nothing but weaklings and cowards. Thus, the odds of them actually going through with it without a just cause is unthinkable."

The giant nodded once again in understanding. It appeared that things involving the northerners were not as clear cut as stereotypes would have one believe. _It appears that there is more to them than being brutes and savages as others would call them. No doubt hoping to slander them behind their backs. That takes less courage than having the guts to fight them in battle._

The group arrived at the tourney fields, having to push through the heavy crowd in order to get a good spot in the stands. After having dropped off their gear and making sure that everything was prepared, they stopped by the brackets.

It was a huge board that was easily as tall as the stands themselves, reaching up to the height of the reserved booths that they had been granted. Only stopping short of the stand in which the grandmasters would be allowed access to.

It had dozens of coats of arms spread out across it, the shields that acted as canvases laying out the matches in a manner that it would be almost impossible to tell if one was not educated in the art of heraldry.

To Dustriel, it was like opening a dusty old tome as he looked at all the different emblems. A hawk from Saltum, the giant brass scorpion of Ser Kokabiel. He could name most of them, the histories and people associated to them stored within his mind. Springing to the front whenever his eyes passed it.

However, there were as many that he did not recognize. No doubt minor knights or those that had yet to make a name for themselves. His eyes scanned through them, committing them to memory. He could at least do them the honor of remembering their names and their coat of arms. A knight's sigil was as important to him as his title after all.

The giant smiled as he found his own, the runic spear of the Witch Queen surrounded by his runes. He had to admit that it stood out a bit as opposed to the rest. Not many were fond of simply displaying their weapon of choice along with a few runic sigils and calling it done. Hell, some might even think it arrogant to display _her_ weapon, as if stating he had a claim to her.

"Which is your Jibril?" Dustriel asked, giving up his pursuit once he saw that there were none matching his expectations. He had expected something more align with the other legionnaires, a bird of some kind or a slightly altered emblem that the cohorts had as their badge of office.

_Let it never be said that the knights of Saltum do not lack for creativity._ The giant thought, chuckling to himself at the blandness.

"Was it not obvious Dust?" He responded, looking at the Nuhera with amusement in his eyes. He pointed to one of the ones at the end, Dustriel hurrying over in order to see what it was what that his friend was desperately trying to keep from him. The giant looked puzzled for a second as he looked at it, his eyebrows narrowed in concentration as he burned the image into his mind.

It was a gauntlet raised up, as if in greeting, the black obsidian something that would have been a little strange for a man of Saltum. However, Jibril had been fostered with them for these last few years. _Maybe it is his way of showing his thanks._

However, what was strange about it was the ominous eye that laid on the back of the hand. Its silver iris seeming to judge all who looked upon it, finding them wanting. The background was a solid blue, finally showing some homage to his kingdom.

"So, what do you think?" Jibril asked, a little eager to hear the response. He had no doubt worked very hard on it and wanted to be complimented. However, the giant could not help but point out the glaring flaw that he saw.

"It's a gauntlet." Dustriel said, the blank tone of his voice hiding his reaction. It was a good coat of arms to be sure, there were many who were just as exotic as it. However, it felt wrong to him. A coat of arms was meant to symbolize who exactly the knight was, what they held dear in their hearts and what ideals they strove for. This, to the giant's eyes, did not live up to that expectation. "What does it mean?"

"What does it mean?" The legionnaire replied, "Well, it means what the viewer intends for it to mean I suppose."

"This is no laughing matter Jibril." Dustriel said, a little sternness seeping into his voice as he gave his friend a hard look. "This is not a piece of art, it is your heraldry. And I will ask again, what does it mean? What am I meant to feel when I look at this?" He continued, gesturing at the emblem.

"Well, do you see the eye on the back?" Jibril asked, dropping the act as he too grew stern. "It is the Eye of Justice as I like to call it."  
"The Eye of Justice?" The giant asked, a little intrigued. That sounded more like something that should be proudly displayed.

"Yes, I came up with it and I think that you can easily get that impression." Jibril continued, nodding at the shield. "You can feel the judgement behind the stare, the hard obsidian giving you no warmth. It is meant to inspire awe in the righteous and despair in the wicked."  
Dustriel nodded at the thought, giving the emblem another look. Seeing it with the notions of what it symbolized fresh in his mind, the giant could admit that it seemed very fitting for his friend. Jibril was the kind of person that stuck to his code no matter what. Those that deviated from it or simply ignored it were all looked at with the same harsh look that the gauntlet stared at him with.

The giant looked to the shield next to it, wondering just who exactly his friend would be facing in battle. The horned white stallion that sat next to the hand made Dustriel chuckle a bit. _Well, at least it will be an interesting first round._ He thought, gesturing to it for Jibril to see.

"Well, I think that you will be meeting your friend Reynard much sooner than you expected, eh Jibril?" Dustriel said, playfully patting the man on the shoulder.

"Ah well, I think that it will be a good match at any rate." He said, smiling at the thought. "Maybe we should see if we can catch a seat next to him and his lady charge. I'm sure that would be pleasing to you." He said, the mischief in his eyes letting Dustriel know that would not be a wise decision.

"Hm, let me see who I will be facing then." The giant said, walking over to the other end of the display. It seemed that the two would likely not be facing each other this tourney. Unless they were able to push through the rest of the no doubt skilled knights that stood in their way.

"Well, it looks like…" Jibril said, looking over the board, his eyes narrowed as he found what he was looking for.

A black featureless shield started back at him, the two knights knowing exactly what that meant.

"Welcome, one and all, to the main event!" The announcer cried, staring out at the packed seats of the stands and the crowd of smallfolk who stood. "What you have all been waiting for, the jousts!"  
The stands gave a few claps of the hand as the announcer gestured to the assembled knights. The smallfolk cried out for their heroes, the maiden crying out the names of their chosen riders as they offered out ribbons and other trinkets to the golden plated knights of Autumne. No doubt seeking to carry favor with their noble lords, winning the favor of a knight was as hard as fighting for the hand of a lady after all.

"Who will take home the name of champion this fine day!" The announcer continued, turning his head to look up at the seats of honor. The twelve masters of the knight orders of Avalon sat assembled, nodding at the man in consent. Lord Theodric Somberset sat in stead of Grandmaster Terryn, smiling down at his assembled knights, nodding to the helmed dragon who return the gesture in kind.

Dustriel smiled a bit when he saw that Terryn was wearing the helmet that he had forged. It was a bit amusing to him. To wear the armor that one's enemy had forged for him. _At least he has a good eye for craftsmanship and more common sense to think I'd trust faulty arms to do him in._ The giant thought, watching as the announcer turned to the assembled knights.

"I wish you all luck in the battles to come." The nobleman said, his eyes scrutinizing each of them in turn, looking up at the giant for a brief moment before continuing. "May the truest knight be named today."

Each of the knights bent their knees in unison, their devotion to their respective grandmaster shown to all before they dissipated, heading back to their stations before it was their turn to ride.

"Now, for our first match, is one that I am all too happy to present to you all!" The announcer said, the booming echoes of his voice vibrating throughout the fields. "For we have a name that you should be all too familiar with! One which has seemingly returned back from the dead, however I think that his edge is still quite keen!"  
Dustriel saddled Viatorem, sighed to himself in order to calm his nerves. This would be his first official tournament in the eyes of Avalon, anyone would be a bit unnerved. However, the feeling was gone as soon as it appeared, smothered down by a feel of exhilaration in the Nuhera.

_Finally, a real challenge._ Dustriel thought, smiling to himself behind his black helm. He had always been forced to hold his strength back, to match the skill of his brothers in arms and to simply be content. But now, now he could finally let it show. Let them all see the strength of his lance and tremble. _If they are foolish to occur the wrath of the Iron River, then they are given their just penitents._

The giant looked down at his squire, smiling behind his helm as he gave a nod to the boy. Even though he could not see his face, he knew that Alanas had felt it as he returned it, grasping the wooden lance that he held in his hands a little less fiercely. It seemed that he was not the only one that was a bit tense.

"May I present to you, lords and ladies, the Giant of the River!" The announcer cried out, his hands spread out towards Dustriel as he rode forth towards his side of the fence. He heard a few gasps and excited whispers, no doubt his demeanor and his obsidian armor make quite the intimidating display. "The man, the myth but not the legend! The son of the Serene Smile herself, the legacy of the late Lord Bridge Knight! Ser Dustriel Nuhera!" He exclaimed, the crowd giving a few cheers at that, none more loudly than those that hailed from Tailte Abhann.

"And his opponent, hailing from the shadowy depths of Pugione, he may not have a order to call home. So then what can he do?" The nobleman asked the crowd, his excited grin begging them to answer. "Well, he can only rider to and from then! May I present to you, a free rider of the Willowdale Court, Ser Agravain!" He called out.

A knight came riding up, his gray power armor a bit banged up and his brown scaled varactyl seemed a bit underweight. He reached his side of the field, looking over at the obsidian giant who greeted him with a dip of lance. He did not respond.

The crowd was silent for a second, no doubt shocked by the announcement. The air was tense as many of the assembled knights glared at the mysterious rider. While there was no law that stipulated that a 'free rider', if one were being polite to the unbound knights of Avalon, could not partake in a tourney. However, few were brave enough to do so as boldly. Indeed, it seemed that the crowd was ready to turn on the knight of Pugione.

"Why the bloody hell is there a damn hedge knight at my tourney?" Lord Theodric asked, the question resonating throughout the crowd. What was once tense silent gave way to shocked questions. Shock gave way to anger, a few curses spat here and there at the gray clad knight. Anger gave way to fury, shouts and obscenities yelled out at Ser Agravain. The only people in the crowd who did not partake in the shouting were the visitors from Pugione, their blank silence not doing much good.

The announcer looked uncertain of what to do, his eyes darting around as he too picked up on the tenseness of the crowd. If nothing were done soon then the people would be crying for the rider's blood.

Dustriel looked at his opponent, the gray clad rider carrying on with dignified silence. Say what you will of the man's honor, but he had the standing of a knight. He did not respond to the sneers that were directed at him, the accusations of his person or the small amount of boos that he was getting.

The giant could feel in the man's mind that none of this mattered to him. _All I want to do is fight, fight the way that a knight should. Is there something wrong with that?_ He heard in the man's mind. He could sympathize with this Ser Agravain, if he simply wanted to participate in the jousts then who were they to deny?

"Call the damn thing off!" Lord Theodric cried out, many giving their approval as they shouted similar sentiments. "I will not have some damn hedge knight think that he can simply join the ranks as if he were worthy! Get him out of my sight!"

Dustriel could feel the mounting disappointment in the man's heart though his demeanor remained unchanged. He could respect the amount of self-control that the knight must have in order to keep from yelling out in righteous outrage. He could feel that Agravain was about to pull out of the running as they were demanding, only waiting for the announcer to give the decree.

He would not allow it.

"As you wish my lord." The announcer said, bowing to the lord. He looked up to Dustriel, an attendant behind him pulling out a white flag, depositing it in front of the blank black shield. "Ser Agravain, withdraws, Ser Dustriel adv-." That was as far as he got before he was cut off by the giant charging down the lane, grabbing his lance from his squire who quickly got out of his master's way.

The free rider looked up, a little shocked at the sight before grabbing his own lance. Dustriel could feel the amount of gratitude in the man's heart at the act. He would no doubt eb reprimanded for this. However, he could not bring himself to care about that. He was here to fight the best that Avalon had to offer, and he felt that this Ser Agravain might be one of them.

The two charged towards one another, their lance pointed towards their opponent. The galloping of their scaled mounts the only sound in the fields, each step closer to the exchange. The two knights thrust forward with their spears, the sound of wood breaking and of metal being dented ringing throughout the crowd. It took them a moment, too shock at the giant's actions. However, they all cheered as they saw the two riders still standing, broken lances in their hands.

Dustriel shook himself from the adrenaline as he grinned behind his helm. This was the match that he was looking for! To match honest blows with honest blows, to meet a worthy opponent that could break him out of the same boring routine he had grown accustomed to. He would have to thank Ser Agravain after this.

The giant looked down at his still shocked squire, "Well, are you going to wait all day? I'm going to need another lance I believe." He said, gesturing to the piece of broken wood that he held. "I doubt that I will be able to unmount him with this."  
Alanas shook himself out of his shock, "Of course Master, right away." He exclaimed, picking another black and blue lance for the knight.

Dustriel looked back to his opponent who was nursing his shield armor. He could tell that he had no doubt wounded the man, it was not shocking from the amount of force that he used. But he still was eager to continue, picking up another lance, his mount a little anxious as it paced back and forth a bit. He gave a nod to the free rider, looking to the shell-shocked announcer.

The crowd was eerily silent. They all looked back and forth between their liege, who looked red in the face as he glared down at the two riders, and the giant himself. Lord Theodoric looked about to say something, no doubt to reprimand the Shield before he was cut off by the sound of a single set of hands clapping.

Everyone's attention snapped to the armored woman who sat in the grandmasters' booth, her smile bearing down at any who would dare try to speak out against her son.

"I think that that was a good exchange of blows, don't you agree Jeremiah?" Catherine asked, smiling at the silver clad man who sat next to her.

The Lord Commander returned her smile with one of his own, nodding down at the fields. "Aye, that I do. I think that it would be quite a shame to let them stop at just one however." He said, looking at his fellow knights. "Well, what do you all think? I say that we let the free rider continue. He has already started so what is the point of stopping him now?" He asked.

The people looked amongst each other, voices of agreement giving way. It was a good match, it would be a shame to simply let it end like this.

Lord Theodoric gritted his teeth as he glared down at the giant, feeling the obsidian clad knight return the look with one of his own. However, his held considerably more weight behind it, the lord unable to endure it as he looked away. He caught the eye of the announcer, giving the man a small nod to continue.

"W-Well, with that exchange we are neck and neck! One point for Ser Dustriel and one for Ser Agravain!" The announcer cried out, ready to swiftly move on with the show. If they were to linger for too long it might encourage the crowd once more.

Dustriel lowered his lance in respect to his opponent as the next exchange was called. He was pleased to see it returned, the free rider even bowing his head out of respect. The giant smiled for a split second at the gesture, readying him as he stared at the announcer.

As soon as the flag was raised, he was off once again, his black and turquoise lance moving akin to a blur as he spurred Viatorem onto battle. He could feel his partner's eagerness, none of his regular playfulness anywhere to be as he screeched out a war cry. The giant gave one of his own, the sound vibrating throughout the land itself as he put his full force into his strike.

Once again, the striking of metal and the snapping of carved wood gave out, accompanied by the sound of a body hitting the ground.

Dustriel shook his arm for a second, he had been able to feel that one. He looked down at the other side of the fence, seeing Ser Agravain upon his back. He sprang off Viatorem as soon as he gave the reins back to his squire, running forth to make sure that the man was well.

"And the winner is Ser Dustriel of the Shields!" The announcer cried out, the crowd all cheering as soon as the result was cried. Some even sprang out of their seats, inspired by the skill of the knight. He seemed to have an air about him, something that drew people in. As if he were an old friend that they had not seen for a while, happy at his success.

Dustriel paid them no mind. He was much too busy making sure that Agravain was alright. He sat the man up, ripping his helmet off. He sighed a breath of relief when he saw that the man seemed to be alright, a bit dazed from the fall but still among the living.

"Ser Agravain, are you well?" The giant asked, shaking the man as he propped him up against the fence. He was given a low groan in respond, the man's eyes slowly opening. It was the first time that he had gotten a proper look at his opponent's face. He did not know that it was one that he would come to know and trust.

Agravain seemed to be a man in his early twenties, his short black hair combed back. His eyes seemed sulked into his face, dark rings under his eyes spoke of long and dreary nights. However, there was no denying that the man was handsome in his own way. If one were into the dark and brooding types. Dustriel chuckled at the thought.

"W-What happened?" The free rider asked, shaking his head a bit. He brought a hand to his head, silently gasping in pain as he did so.

"I knocked you from your stead my friend." Dustriel said, grasping the man's hand as he helped him to his feet. "That was a good match Agravain, I would have hated to simply take the win and be denied the privilege of facing such a skilled warrior." He continued, smiling behind his helm.

"Thank you for that." Agravain replied, nodding up to the giant. The usual awe that he was accustomed to was not there. Indeed, it appeared that hardly any emotion seemed to show on the knight's face. "I've always wanted to ride in a tourney, to prove my worth. However, as you can no doubt tell that it was a bit difficult because of my position.

Dustriel nodded, placing a hand on the man's shoulder. "I can imagine. However, I think that it might be wise for us to continue this talk elsewhere." He suggested, gesturing towards the still cheering crowd.

Agravain nodded at the sentiment, following the giant as he went back to where the other participants were sitting. Many were abuzz with the match, talking in excited whispers to those around them. The Shield waved to Jibril, noting the empty seats next to him.

"Aye, what did you think of that Jibril?" Dustriel asked, taking a seat next to his friend, his companion following his example as he sat at the end. "That enough to make even you flinch?"  
"What the hell were you thinking?" Jibril asked, looking a bit annoyed at the giant. He gave a quick glance at the free rider, his silver glare not letting up as he quickly looked back at his friend. "You do realize that you could have easily been ousted for that were it not for Ser Catherine?"  
"I think that I was doing what I thought was right." The giant replied, responding with a glare of his own. "We are all knights here Jibril, we all deserve the same respect and courtesy. I will be damned before I allow anything to get in the way of a knight simply wanting a joust."  
Jibril shook his head, seeing the conviction in his brother's eyes. "I can see that nothing I say will convince you." He admitted, sighing for a second before his face grew blank. "I just wish that you would think these things through before you decided to do them."

"What can I say?" Dustriel asked, "I am someone who cannot stand by while injustice is done. No matter how small."  
"Well, it was a good match." Jibril admitted, a small smile growing on his face. He stood up, nodding at the two. "I hope that I can live up to that standard as well."  
Dustriel looked over to where the Order of Dawn was sitting, seeing Reynard stand up as well, the beauty that he saw the other day was with him as well. She was clad in the armor of her order, the white rose painted upon her pauldron. She was saying something to her companion, her voice so faintly that no ordinary man could make out what she was saying. Dustriel was no ordinary man.

"Be careful Reynard, don't be too reckless." The maiden said, looking a bit concerned for her companion.

"You worry too much Valentina." Reynard replied, gracing the lady with a smile. It seemed to calm her nerves a bit as her body lost a bit of tenseness. "I'll knock the legionnaire on his ass and we can win this bet right after."

"You seem so sure of yourself." Valentina said, shaking her head at the comment. "Then go ahead you stubborn fool. Go ahead and show why the knights of Gwent should be respected."

Reynard chuckled at that, looking up to see his opponent. He could summarize that the man no doubt would be more skilled than the rest of the competition. He had said that he was friends with the giant and he had seen the Shield batter the free rider as if he were nothing.

"Well, I hope that you are ready to taste the dirt dear Reynard." Jibril said, giving the man a smirk. "I can assure you that you will at the very least have a bit of gold when this is all done. As long as you are not above begging your lady for it."

"Ha!" Reynard scoffed, returning the playful smirk with one of his own. He much liked the carefree legionnaire. He could tell that they would have gotten along fine had Jibril been of their ranks. "I assure you Ser Jibril, it is you that will be having the gold. My dear Valentina does not like it when she feels that she is given special treatment. How about I give you a taste of my blade when this is all said and done? You can meet the ground both here and in the grand melee."

Jibril looked ready to snap back, a witty retort on his tongue. However, he was stopped as the announcer cleared his throat. It seemed that the time for banter was over. Now was the time for arms.

"Contestants, mount your steeds and we can begin." The noble said, gesturing towards the restless varactyl that stood near the podium. The two mounted their respective steeds, Jibril an emerald green while Reynard favored a bright blue. The two raced towards their respective ends, their eyes narrowed behind their donned helms.

"Make sure that you fit him clear in the chest Jibril." Alanas said, handing a wooden lance to the knight. Jibril was happy to notice that the boy had brought out a few silver and black stripped ones. He would have to thank the boy later. "If you don't then that means you won't get to fight Master."

"I know that Alanas." Jibril replied, giving the boy a small smile as he broke eye contact with the Dawn knight. "We can't have that can we? I'm sure that all these nice people will much enjoy me knocking him in the dirt."

"As if is what you think will happen then we both know you're a fool." The lad snapped back, a quick narrowing of the eyes the only notion of what he thought on the comment.

"Are the contestants ready?" The announcer cried out. Looking behind the two. Jibril nodded first, grasping onto the silver lance he held. Reynard nodded after a second, grabbing a bright yellow lance. The two looking forward with a determined look on their face.

This was where they would be making their presence known to the rest of the world. If they won here then their names might go down in legend one day. When historians looked back this is where they would see the start of their journey.

_It is good to at least go up against a good opponent._ The legionnaire thought, his steed anxious as he kept walking forward and back every couple of seconds.

"On this side, we have another great surprise for you ladies and gentlemen!" The announcer cried out, raising his hand on the side of Jibril's field. "We have for you the son of a man who had known no defeat, ne it on varactyl back or on foot! Hailing from the deep mountains of Saltum, one of the up and coming legionnaires of this era! I give you, Jibril Shearwards!"  
The crowd cheered at that, Jeremiah clapping his hands along with the other men of the Silver Legion in the stands.

"And on this side, representing the valiant knights of Dawn!" The nobleman continued, gesturing to Reynard clad in his blue and yellow armor. "A recent rising knight, the Unicorn of Ironhaven! Please give a warm welcome to Ser Reynard of house Astarral!"

The nobles of Gwent in the stand clapped loudly for their champion. A few more hoots and hollers than would be expected of any other kingdom's nobility. However, one would have to remember that these were the men of Gwent and they were used to such flamboyant introductions in their world-famous Arena. A place where monsters and other beasts are pitted against their fighters for a shot of glory.

"Now, who will win when this is all say and done?" The announcer cried out, giving one last glimpse between the two knights. He raised his hand, counting in his head to three. He dropped the hand and both contestants sprang into action.

Jibril raised his lance as he urged Dílis onward, bucking his knees gently into his saddle's heels. He raised his lance, sighing for a second as he readied himself. He would admit that his opponent did look quite valiantly in his blue and yellow stripped armor, the image of the unicorn printed upon his shield. However, looks would not save him from the thrashing he was about to unleash.

As the two passed each other by, as their lances were raised and Reynard hid behind his shield, Jibril struck. He weaved his lance around, easily bypassing the other knight's weapon. He struck the Dawn knight straight in the shoulder, the full impact of the weapon splintering off the man's armor.

Many cried out in fright from the sight, sucking in their breathe as they saw Reynard barely holding onto his steed. However, through what appeared to be sheer stubbornness he was able to keep himself upright.

"Three points to Ser Jibril!" The announcer cried out, one of his attendants presenting three white flags on Jibril's score counter. "A well struck blow, can Ser Reynard recover from such a hit?!"

Reynard sucked in the pain, sighing as he readjusted his arm to relieve the pressure. He hadn't seen that one coming. However, there was no denying the legionnaire's skill with the lance. _He was pretty damn good. _He thought, smiling a bit before it was overwhelmed with the stabbing sensation in his arm.

The two riders faced each other, rearming themselves as they grasped their new lances. Jibril offered a nod to Reynard out of respect. He had known some who would have called it quits there but the man kept on rider. He could respect that.

As soon as the announcer signaled another round the two were off once again. Their lances levelled towards each other; their eyes narrowed as they struck out with their respective weapons. The sound of two wooden spears broke out throughout the fields, followed by the loud cheering that continued.

Reynard gasped in pain as he felt the lance strike him in the chest, the feeling of his armor absorbing the pain letting him know how lucky he was to be wearing it. However, he could not help but grin as he saw his adversary.

Jibril looked quite shocked as he leaned back in his saddle, no doubt a little shocked by the blow to the head that he had just experienced. His silver helm was knocked clean off and yet he was still sitting reasonably well on his steed. No doubt due to the fact that he was a well-trained rider that he was able to keep himself atop his varactyl.

"Five points to Ser Reynard!" The announcer cried, five white flags raised on the Dawn knight's side. "And another three for Ser Jibril!" Three more flags appeared on the Shearwards side. If he were to get another two then this match would be over with.

"It appears that this will might be our final round!" The noble continued, the crowd's cheering intensifying. It appeared that this match between two more evenly matched competitors was much more interesting than the one-sided duel between the giant and the free rider. Not that many could blame them.

Jibril still wore his grin as he grasped his new lance. Alanas was looking up at him with concern, wondering if the blow to the head had been enough to cause the Saltum knight brain damage. No, he was just too interested in this battle. If he were to lose then that might mean that Reynard might be good enough to continue ahead and have a chance of besting his friend.

_No, if there is anyone that is going to knock Dust on his back it is going to be me._ Jibril thought, his resolve sharpening as he readied himself. He sucked in a breath, hoping that no one would see the pain in his eyes. That last hit had no doubt done more damage than he was letting on. He would have to finish this soon, lest he risk losing to the Dawn knight.

"It looks like things are getting mighty close folks!" The announcer cried, egging on the enthusiasm of the crowd. People were cheering loudly for their chosen champions, money passing hands as bets were placed and money won or lost. "However, there can only be one winner here today! Cheer for your fighters and let the Witch-Queen decide who is truly the better man!"

The people cheered louder at that. It was always good to play to their sense of belief. The battlefield was the Queen's realm and she was the only that decided all matters relating to it.

Jibril nodded as he glazed upon his enemy at the other side of the field. Reynard raised his shield in a salute, the legionnaire responded in turn. As soon as the flags were raised, they both tensed, more akin to predators stalking their prey than knights. As the white cloths dropped, they were off.

The legionnaire raised his lance high, his silver eyes narrowed as he galloped full force down the field. He kicked at his loyal mount, shouting words of encouragement to the lizard as he beat his feet into a never-ending rhythm. He grinned as he looked upon the gold clad fighter, feeling a bit saddened.

_It would be a shame to have to settle here, my friend, but all good things must come to an end. _Jibril thought, leaning forward over his bonded partner. He raised the shield which bore the silver gauntlet, feeling his enemy strike out towards him. He angled the shield at the last second, making sure to deflect the blow.

Reynard's eyes shot open behind his helm as he saw his strike fail short, the glare of the eye on his opponent's shield seeming to stare into his soul. The silver iris seemed to weigh his worth in that one moment, balancing it upon a scale he could not see. However, as soon as the emblem was dropped, as soon as he could see the legionnaire's eyes, he could tell.

He had been found wanting.

Jibril lashed out with the silver lance in his hands, striking a blow in Reynard's head. It seemed only fair after all. He had felt it proper to repay him for the one that the Gwentian had given him.

He watched as the gold and blue clad fighter dropped off his horse, the force of the blow knocking his helm clear off. He dropped to the ground immediately, the loud clank of electrically powered armor filled the jousting fields. It was silent for a moment, no one saying a word before the crowd cheered. However, there were a few who threw in a '_boo'_ here and there, handing over bags of silver to their fellow gamblers.

Jibril looked down at Reynard, feeling hesitant. He was worried that he might have seriously wounded the man. Head injuries were nothing to scoff at after all. He had heard many stories where the wounded were left struck dumb for life, forced to live in a type of limbo with none of their wits about them.

Reynard started coughing after a few second, cursing a bit under his breath as he did so. "By the Witch-Queen, did you have to hit so hard? Damn legionnaires."

Jibril laughed at that, leaning over to pick his opponent's helm from where it landed. "Well, I think that it was your just desserts. If you do recall dear Ser Reynard, it was not I who started with the blows to the head." He said, gesturing to his own unarmored head. "What was I to do if you had greatly wounded me? I fear that the ladies of the crowd would have surely been disappointed and that would be a true shame."

The knight of Dawn laughed at that, a small chuckle slowly building up to a belly aching laugh. Looking up at the knight of Saltum, his noble features highlighted only by the smile that he wore. The shine of his silver armor and the well maintained arms that he held on his belt. It was as if the Shearwards was something out of one of the old stories, a cavalier through and through.

"Huh, a cavalier aye." Reynard muttered to himself, already knowing what his next words would mean for the Saltumian. "Well. I can say that you struck well Ser Jibril, the Silver Cavalier!" He cried out, the title ringing through the air as heavily as the silence a few moments ago.

Jibril looked thoughtful at that, pondering the name. He looked over towards the other contestants, flashing a grin at the flat look that the giant was giving him. He looked back to the crowd, already the name starting to take root as the people started to mumble amongst themselves.

Lastly, he looked up to where the grand masters were seated. His eyes first went to Ser Catherine, the woman nodded at him with a warm smile on his face. He wouldn't admit it aloud but that single act filled him with more pride than most things. However, as he turned to look at his father, that feeling was soon superseded.

The Lord Commander of the Silver Legion did not give any outwards gestures at the match. If anything, one could say that his lack of favor was a bit cold of him. However, those people would not know the way that his father was. What most would perceive as a cold look, he could feel only happiness at the way that his father looked at him. The silent approval of the events that unfolded under Jeremiah's eyes something that Jibril had always strode for. Now that he was given such, he could express the amount of joy he felt in that moment.

"Cavalier huh." Jibril said, tasting the name on his tongue. It seemed to please him if the smile he offered to his downed opponent was anything to go on. "A good enough name I suppose." He continued, offering a hand to Reynard.

The Dawn knight grasped his hand, shaking his head for a moment. "That was a damn good hit thought. I trust that we'll have to settle the topic of my ransom." He said, gesturing to the helmet that Jibril held in his other hand.

By all rights, the man could demand all his armor and weapons, make him pay for it all. It would be what was expected. However, it appeared the Shearwards was not one to simply bow to expectations.

"Here," The legionnaire said, tossing the helm to Reynard. "Take it, and your gold while you're at it. Dust is many things but greedy is not one of them. Pay him what he asks, and we'll call it even."

Reynard hummed at that, nodding his head once as he looked down at his helm. It was just the way that he had worn it, no notions of a dent or scratch from the incredible blow. "If that is what you wish friend. Never let it be said that I am not a man of my word." He admitted, slipping on the mechanized helmet. The _clink_ it made as it settled back into place was a familiar and good feeling.

Jibril smiled as he trotted away, ignoring the cries of the crowd and the announcer as he declared him the victor. It was all superficial to him anyways. He eyes glimpsed towards the giant who sat with the rest of the competitors, seeming to be in deep conversation with the free rider of Pugione.

There was only one fighter here who he had his eyes on besting.  
END

**So, I know that it's been a while but here we are again. I feel that this is where things are going to be getting interesting from here on out. **

**So, question for you all: would you like me to go more in dept with the Grand Tourney? Because I can see this taking maybe 2-3 more chapters before we are done with this at the minimum. Need to display the melee, interactions and politics of the knights, the ball is also something that I am looking forward to. If I go really in depth and capture each it would take me a couple more chapters. I just want to hear what you all think and then go from there.**

**So, onto comments!**

**Slaggedfire: So, I am going to admit that I myself am not a huge fan of Chapter 6. I find it a bit chunky and in places not completely necessary. However, I can say the same about half the old 40k novels. It is necessary to get to the cooler parts and it really opens up parts that I feel are important to getting some insight into the world of Avalon.**

**Also, as for your question, I requested that the entity that helped Dustriel was not named in the comments. I know that it was fairly easily to figure it out and only someone brand new to the lore would be obvious to who she is. However, I didn't want someone to read the comments first and then get spoiled. I hate when that happens to me and I didn't think anyone else appreciates spoilers. Not trying to be mean about it but it was just something that I requested since like chapter 2.**

**Guest: Well, here are more chapters my friend! I hope that you enjoyed this one.**

**Now, for this week's footnote!**

**Agravain the Stern: For such an approachable and open individual (for a Primarch), it has been noted that his choice in equerry is one in which we found quite odd. Ser Agravain is someone who has a spotless record, one of the first knights to swear themselves to the Primarch's cause. However, he is also the coldest and most detached on Lord Dustriel's council. While his past as a 'free rider', a more polite term for a hedge knight as we have learned, this can only explain so much. When approached he always brushes off our attempts at questioning him. We have brought our concerns to the Primarch only for the man to chuckle at our explanations. 'Agravain is not someone that enjoys what he deems 'unnecessary' distractions. He's been this way since we first meet, and I doubt he will be changing much. You should have seen him fight with Jibril, there were never too more different knights than those two. Though they still lived and breathe their oaths.' He commented, the King of Knights seeming sad as he said this. We have decided to hold back questioning the man henceforth, noting that it is a futile effort.**


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